Chapter 15 - The Cottage at Midnight
I did not drive to the cottage.
That may have been the smartest decision I made during the entire ordeal.
The old Claire would have gone.
She would have wanted answers immediately.
She would have convinced herself she could keep everyone calm.
Instead, I called Gabriel.
Then Nora.
Then local authorities.
The cameras did the rest.
Andrew entered through the side utility door.
He knew where the old lock jammed.
He crossed the kitchen and went directly upstairs.
He did not search.
He knew exactly where he was going.
The camera in the hallway showed him entering the bedroom.
Six minutes later, he emerged carrying a black laptop bag.
I had never seen it before.
As he reached the stairs, lights flashed through the cottage windows.
Andrew froze.
I watched remotely from Matthew’s kitchen.
For the first time since my birthday, I shook.
Not from fear.
From the horrifying realization that if I had ignored the pot and gone back to pretending, I would never have known any of this was happening.
The laptop became part of the investigation.
I did not receive immediate access to it.
I did not need to.
Andrew’s behavior told me the contents mattered.
His attorney postponed the next mediation session.
Then came three days of silence.
On the fourth morning, Nora called me before seven.
“Andrew wants to settle everything.”
“He already wanted that.”
“No.”
Her voice was different.
“I mean everything.”
He would transfer any remaining ownership interest in the Rochester property.
He would waive claims against the cottage.
He would accept a structured repayment obligation.
He would not contest Lorraine’s removal from the residence.
He would cooperate in locating my missing property.
“What changed?”
Nora paused.
“I cannot discuss information we do not officially possess.”
I understood.
“But I can tell you his attorney sounds very motivated.”
The answer reached me indirectly that afternoon.
Serena called.
Andrew had contacted her from his lawyer’s office.
He wanted her to confirm that certain financial spreadsheets had been created as “hypothetical planning.”
“What spreadsheets?”
Serena hesitated.
“He showed me one months ago.”
“What was on it?”
“Your assets.”
My stomach tightened.
“The house.”
“Yes.”
“The cottage.”
“Yes.”
“My inheritance accounts?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“Anything else?”
“Your retirement account.”
I leaned against the kitchen counter.
Andrew had not merely planned how to leave me.
He had cataloged my life.
Then Serena added one final detail.
“There was a column labeled pressure points.”
I opened my eyes.
“What did it say?”
“Your work schedule.”
“Your mother.”
“The anniversary of your grandmother’s death.”
“And your birthday.”
I suddenly understood why Andrew wanted that laptop so desperately.
May you like
It did not merely contain money.
It contained intent.
