Chapter 5 - The Family Chat
The police could not simply hand me Ryan’s phone.
But by morning, Samantha had enough legal information to understand the direction of the investigation.
Brooke had been careless.
She used her real number.
Ryan had been even more careless.
He had apparently assumed I would never fight back.
The messages described me as an account.
Not a wife.
Claire gets another stock payout in March.
She’ll be on maternity leave by then.
Dad says once the baby comes she’ll be easier to manage.
Mom thinks the penthouse should eventually be transferred to Ryan.
One message from Brooke was worse.
What if she refuses?
Ryan’s response had been simple.
She won’t.
I read the summary twice.
Then I put the paper down.
Samantha sat across from me in the hospital room.
“There’s more.”
“Of course there is.”
“The police found screenshots of financial documents.”
“How?”
“Photographed from your office.”
My mind went immediately to all the times Ryan brought coffee into the room.
All the times he asked whether I was still working.
All the nights he kissed my forehead while standing behind my chair.
I had interpreted interest as affection.
Maybe sometimes it was.
That almost hurt more.
At ten that morning, the doctor discharged me with instructions to rest and return immediately if I experienced pain, bleeding, contractions, or decreased fetal movement.
Marcus had a building car waiting.
I entered the penthouse shortly before noon.
The dining room looked exactly as I had left it.
Broken glass.
Wine stains.
Food across the floor.
A crushed cigarette near Grant’s chair.
For a long time, I simply stood there.
Then Marcus spoke quietly.
“We can have this cleaned.”
“No.”
He looked surprised.
“I want photographs first.”
I photographed everything.
Then I walked into the bedroom.
The safe stood open.
Papers covered the floor.
The smashed camera hung from its mount.
And on the bed sat a cardboard evidence receipt from the police.
Ryan’s belongings that had remained behind were listed.
Clothing.
Toiletries.
Laptop charger.
Watch box.
One locked briefcase.
I stared at the last item.
“Marcus, where is the briefcase?”
“Police didn’t take it.”
We found it in the closet.
Ryan had shoved it behind two suitcases.
Samantha arrived thirty minutes later.
The briefcase belonged to Ryan.
We could not force it open without risking legal problems.
So we didn’t.
We photographed it.
Then Samantha noticed something.
A luggage tag was attached to the handle.
DENVER INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT.
Departure date: January 4.
Destination: Nassau.
Two passengers.
Ryan Bennett.
Brooke Bennett.
I stared at Samantha.
“My husband planned a Caribbean trip with his sister?”
She turned the tag over.
“No.”
A third name was handwritten on the back.
DIANE BENNETT.
Ryan had planned to leave the country with his mother and sister four days after New Year’s.
Grant’s name wasn’t there.
Neither was mine.
Then Samantha pointed toward the price printed on the luggage receipt.
May you like
Paid in full.
Using a card ending in the same four digits as my corporate expense account.
