Chương 7
Two months of dinners.
Two months of conversations.
Two months of me asking, “Are you okay?”
And him saying, “Just tired.”
I walked away from the desk.
Anger rose slowly.
Not explosive.
Something heavier.
“You knew.”
Sterling looked confused.
“What?”
“You knew he was investigating.”
“Yes.”
“You knew he was scared.”
“Yes.”
“And nobody told me.”
His face changed.
“Sarah.”
“No.”
I turned toward him.
“You all decided I was too fragile.”
“That was not the reason.”
“Then what was?”
Sterling did not answer.
Because there was no answer that would not hurt.
I laughed quietly.
It was not a happy sound.
“I was his wife.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
The question hung there.
Sterling looked away.
I picked up the note again.
David’s handwriting stared back at me.
I wanted to be angry at him.
I needed to be angry at him.
But every time I tried, I remembered the video.
The fear in his eyes.
The apology.
He had not been hiding because he did not trust me.
He had been hiding because he thought he could control the danger.
And now I was left carrying the consequences.
My phone buzzed again.
Both of us froze.
Another message.
Same unknown number.
I opened it.
This time there was a photograph.
My blood went cold.
It was a picture of my house.
Taken from outside.
The image showed my bedroom window.
A second message appeared.
You are still inside the fortress.
You should leave before it becomes your grave.
Sterling immediately reached for his phone.
“Do not reply.”
“I was not going to.”
“Good.”
He stepped toward the window.
The security lights outside were already on.
“Do you have cameras?”
“Yes.”
“Show me.”
We moved quickly to the security monitor in the downstairs office.
The system loaded.
Front entrance.
Back garden.
Driveway.
Side gate.
Nothing.
Empty.
Sterling checked the timestamp on the photo.
“When was this taken?”
I looked.
Ten minutes earlier.
My stomach dropped.
“That is impossible.”
“What?”
“I was upstairs ten minutes ago.”
Sterling looked at me.
“No.”
His voice was quiet.
“You were in the office.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
I pointed upward.
“I was standing in our bedroom.”
He stared at the screen.
Then at me.
The meaning arrived at the same time.
Whoever took the picture had not been watching the house from the street.
They had been close enough to know where I was.
Maybe inside the property.
The thought made my skin crawl.
Sterling immediately called security.
“Lock every entrance.”
“Do not let anyone leave.”
“Check the interior cameras.”
I looked around the office.
The room suddenly felt unfamiliar.
David had spent years building this place.
A fortress.
That was what he called it.
But a fortress only mattered if the walls kept people out.
“What if they are already inside?”
Sterling did not answer.
That was answer enough.
The security team searched the house room by room.
I stood in the hallway holding my arms around myself.
Every sound felt louder.
A door closing.
A footstep.
The air conditioner turning on.
I hated how quickly fear could change a familiar place.
A home could become a threat in seconds.
After twenty minutes, the head of security returned.
“No one is inside.”
Sterling did not look relieved.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Check again.”
The guard hesitated.
“We already checked.”
“Check again.”
The man nodded and left.
I looked at Sterling.
“You think they missed something.”
“I think people make mistakes.”
“You sound like David.”
A small expression crossed his face.
“Unfortunately, he was often right.”
That almost made me smile.
Almost.
Then the security guard returned.
This time his face was different.
“There is something.”
Sterling stepped forward.
“What?”
The guard held out a small object.
A flash drive.
“It was found in Mr. Whitmore’s office.”
My heart stopped.
“Where?”
“Behind the desk.”
“That was not there before,” Sterling said.
The guard looked uncomfortable.
“How do you know?”
“Because I searched that office after his death.”
The room became silent.
Someone had entered the office.
Someone had left something behind.
And they wanted us to find it.
Sterling took the drive carefully.
“Do not open this here.”
“Why?”
“Because we do not know what is on it.”
I looked at the tiny piece of plastic in his hand.
A message.
A threat.
A clue.
Maybe all three.
“David knew.”
Sterling looked at me.
“He knew someone would come looking.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
I looked toward the office where my husband had spent countless nights.
“He knew someone would come looking for him.”
Nobody spoke.
Because we both understood the difference.
David had not simply been protecting his money.
He had been protecting the truth.
And now that he was gone, someone had decided I was the next person who needed to be silenced.
The next morning, I woke up before the alarm on my nightstand.
For several seconds, I did not know why.
The room was gray with early morning light, and the familiar shape beside me was missing.
My hand moved across the empty space beside me before my mind caught up.
David was gone.
The pain was not as sharp as the first morning.
That scared me more.
Grief was changing shape.
It was becoming something I carried instead of something that knocked me down.
I sat up slowly and looked toward the window.
The security lights outside were still on.
A guard stood near the front gate.
My home had become a place I needed protection from.
I hated that.
I hated that someone had taken something ordinary from me.
Not just David.
Not just safety.
The simple ability to walk through my own house without wondering who was watching.
My phone sat on the nightstand.
No new messages.
That somehow felt worse.
Threats were easier to understand than silence.
Silence gave people time.
I got dressed slowly.
May you like
The black dress from the funeral was hanging over a chair.
I picked it up, then put it back.
