“I’ll be in a car down the street,” he told me through an earpiece as I tested the signal. “If things go south, I can be there in thirty seconds.”
“You’re risking a lot for me,” I said.
“I’m doing this for my daughter,” he replied. “And to stop a monster.”
At 6:15 PM, I pulled into Rebecca’s driveway. The camera was rolling. In my pocket, I had my phone set to auto-dial 911 if I didn’t cancel the timer.
Rebecca opened the door, greeting me with a kiss that felt venomous. “Right on time! Dinner is almost ready.”
The house smelled inviting—garlic, basil, baking bread. It was the perfect domestic camouflage.
“Need help?” I asked, walking into the kitchen.
“Actually, yes. Could you grab a bottle of Chianti from the rack in the basement?”
My stomach dropped. There it was. Five minutes in, and she was already trying to kill me.
“I’m not feeling wine tonight,” I said, watching her carefully. “Maybe just water?”
A flicker of annoyance crossed her face, gone in an instant. “Oh. Alright. Well, there’s sparkling water in the basement fridge.”
“Tap water is fine,” I insisted, filling a glass at the sink.
She stared at me, her mind clearly racing to adjust the script. Emma came bounding down the stairs then, breaking the tension. I helped her set the table, ensuring I never left the safety of the kitchen.
During the meal, I analyzed Rebecca. It was a performance. Every smile, every touch was calculated. She was playing a role, and she deserved an Oscar for it.
“David, you’ve barely touched your food,” Rebecca said as we finished eating. “Is something wrong?”
“Actually,” I said, pushing my plate away. “We need to talk.”
Emma looked anxious. “Is everything okay?”
“Emma, why don’t you go to your room?” Rebecca suggested smoothly. “David and I need a moment.”
“No,” I said, my voice firm. “Emma stays. She needs to hear this.”
Rebecca’s smile faltered. “David, I don’t think…”
“I know about Gregory,” I said. “I know he’s alive.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Emma stared at me in shock. Rebecca’s face went blank, stripped of all emotion.
“What?” Emma whispered. “Dad is dead.”
“No, he isn’t. He faked his death to get away from your mother.”
Rebecca stood up slowly. “David, you are sounding delusional. You need to go home and sleep.”
“I am perfectly sane,” I countered. “I know about Nathan Carver. I know about Thomas Brennan. I know about the millions in insurance payouts. And I know tonight I was supposed to be victim number four.”
Emma began to cry. “Mom? What is he saying?”
Rebecca ignored her. She turned her cold gaze on me. The act was over. “How did you find out?” she asked, her tone conversational.
“Does it matter?”
“It does. I am thorough. Someone must have given you the files.”
“Gregory left me everything. He has been watching you.”
Rebecca let out a small laugh. “Gregory. He was always the smart one. I should have verified the body myself. That was sloppy.”
Emma backed away, horrified. “Mom? You… you killed them?”
“Oh, grow up, Emma,” Rebecca sighed, sounding bored. “You are so naive. Just like your father. Just like David.”
My hand gripped the phone in my pocket. The police were already listening.
