Chapter 3 - THE CAMERA
My neighbor’s name was Daniel Mercer.
He was sixty-three, retired, and obsessed with home security.
Ethan used to joke that Daniel’s house had more cameras than a bank.
That joke suddenly wasn’t funny.
I called him from the hospital.
He answered immediately.
“Claire?”
“What did Ethan ask you?”
There was a pause.
“Are you alone?”
I looked at Ethan.
He was arguing quietly with Margaret near the hallway.
“No.”
“Then don’t react.”
My hands went cold.
Daniel continued.
“About twenty minutes before you fell, Ethan knocked on my door.”
“What did he say?”
“He said there’d been package thefts and asked whether my doorbell camera was working.”
My heart pounded.
“Then what?”
“He asked me to turn it off for an hour because he said your mother-in-law was having some kind of private family meeting and didn’t want neighbors recording guests.”
I closed my eyes.
Daniel’s voice softened.
“It sounded strange, so I pretended I disabled it.”
“Why?”
“Because your husband has never cared about my cameras before.”
I looked toward Ethan again.
His back was to me.
“Daniel, do you have him asking?”
“Yes.”
“Save everything.”
“Already did.”
“Send it to me and another person.”
“I sent copies to my daughter.”
Good.
I had learned something important in the last twelve hours.
Evidence should never exist in only one place.
Ethan walked back into the room.
I ended the call.
“Who was that?”
“Hospital billing.”
He studied my face.
“You look upset.”
“I fell down a staircase.”
His jaw tightened.
“Claire, I need you to stop saying it like Mom attacked you.”
“She did.”
“We don’t know that.”
“I know that.”
“You were upset.”
“Because she told me you wanted me gone.”
His face changed.
Margaret had said exactly that before pushing me.
She’d told me Ethan regretted marrying me.
That he wished the baby had never happened.
I had assumed she was trying to hurt me.
Now I wondered how much of it had come directly from him.
“Why did you sign the guardianship papers?” I asked.
“To protect our child.”
“From what?”
He hesitated.
“From your behavior.”
“What behavior?”
“You’ve been emotional.”
“I’m pregnant.”
“You’ve been suspicious.”
“Your mother pushed me down the stairs.”
His voice dropped.
“Stop saying that.”
The command in his tone frightened me more than yelling would have.
I stared at him.
Then I understood.
This wasn’t Ethan being manipulated by Margaret.
This wasn’t a weak husband unable to stand up to his mother.
He was part of it.
Maybe the biggest part.
I reached for the folder again.
On page seven was an attached financial affidavit.
My name appeared beside assets I had never seen.
A trust.
A house.
Investment accounts.
And one line highlighted in yellow:
Upon the birth of a living heir, control transfers to spouse under specified conditions of incapacity.
I looked at Ethan.
“What trust?”
He froze.
May you like
And for the first time since my fall, my husband looked genuinely terrified.
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