Chapter 5: Twelve Photos
Emma was asleep by eight.
I stood in her doorway for a moment after I turned off her lamp.
Her nightlight cast a soft orange glow across the room.
Her stuffed rabbit was tucked under her arm.
I pulled the door to.
Ryan was downstairs.
I could hear the television — the low murmur of a sports channel he wasn't really watching.
I went to the bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed, and opened my phone.
Travis had sent the folder at 3:42 p.m.
Twelve images.
I opened the first one.
Ryan's car outside the Meridian.
Timestamp: 1:47 a.m.
A Tuesday in March.
The second.
Same location.
A Friday in April.
The third.
Ryan at the hotel entrance.
Diane beside him.
Her hand on his forearm, her face turned up toward his.
He was laughing.
I knew that laugh.
I'd fallen in love with that laugh.
The fourth photo.
The fifth.
The sixth.
Different nights.
Same woman.
Same entrance.
Once, a different door — a side exit, the kind you use when you don't want to be seen from the street.
I set the phone face-down on the duvet.
The television murmured downstairs.
I picked the phone back up.
The seventh photo made me stop.
It wasn't outside the hotel.
It was a screenshot — a text exchange.
Travis's number at the top.
Ryan's name below it.
Ryan: *I know what you're doing.
Stop walking my daughter home or I'll make sure you regret it.*
Travis: *I'm on the approved list.
Talk to the school.*
Ryan: *I'm not talking to the school.
I'm talking to you.
Last warning.*
The message was dated five days ago.
I read it twice.
Then I kept going.
The eighth photo.
The ninth.
More of the hotel.
More of Diane.
One image where they were standing close enough that there was no reasonable explanation left.
The tenth photo was different.
It was a document.
Photographed on a desk — Travis must have held his phone over it at an angle.
The letterhead was from a law firm I didn't recognize.
The date was eight months ago.
I enlarged it.
It took me a moment to understand what I was reading.
It was a letter.
Addressed to Ryan.
From an attorney named Gerald Foss at a firm called Foss & Craine.
The subject line read: *Re: Dissolution of Joint Asset — Pending Transfer.*
I read the first paragraph.
Then I read it again.
Ryan had opened a separate account.
Eight months ago.
He'd begun moving money into it — small amounts, irregular intervals, the kind of transfers that don't trigger automatic flags.
The letter was confirming the completion of the first phase of the transfer.
The account was not in my name.
My hands were very still on the phone.
I thought about the conversation in the car.
*Whatever Travis said to you today — he has his own reasons for saying it.*
Ryan had known Travis had something.
He hadn't known what.
He'd been trying to plant doubt before I could look.
I opened the eleventh photo.
Another document.
Same law firm.
Dated three months ago.
This one referenced a property — an address I didn't recognize on Caldwell Street.
A purchase.
Ryan's name only.
A second property.
Bought without telling me.
The twelfth photo was a receipt.
A jewelry store.
A bracelet.
Engraved.
The engraving read: *Always — R.*
I put the phone down on the nightstand.
Downstairs, the television clicked off.
Ryan's footsteps crossed the living room floor.
The stairs creaked — one, two, three.
I picked up my phone, locked the screen, and set it face-down.
The bedroom door opened.
"Coming to bed?" Ryan asked.
"In a minute," I said.
"I want to read for a bit."
He looked at me.
I kept my face completely still.
"Don't stay up too late," he said.
He went to the bathroom.
The water ran.
The light under the door went dark.
I sat on the edge of the bed and listened to him settle.
Then I opened my phone again and typed a text to Travis.
*I saw all twelve.
I need a lawyer.
Do you know anyone I can trust?*
His reply came back in under a minute.
*Yes.
Her name is Carol Vance.
I'll send you her number.
She's good, Lauren.
She's very good.*
May you like
Then, after a pause:
*Don't let him see it coming.*
