Chapter 14 - THOMAS CHOSE HIMSELF
Thomas surrendered the original drive.
It helped.
It did not erase what he had done.
He had withheld evidence for custody leverage.
He had lied to me.
He had given Claire copies that allowed her to anticipate parts of the investigation.
He chose himself when the decision became painful.
Jason had done the same thing for years.
The difference was scale.
Not principle.
I stopped relying on Thomas.
That hurt him.
It saved me.
The next morning, a judge issued temporary orders freezing the cottage, the Ithaca land interest, and disputed company-related assets pending review.
Claire could not move them.
Jason could not pledge them.
Richard could not leverage them.
For twelve minutes, I thought we had won.
Then the medical center called.
The complaint against me had expanded.
Diane submitted photographs.
Bruises on her arm.
She claimed I had grabbed her repeatedly over the previous six months.
I knew nothing about them.
My supervisor sounded troubled.
“Natalie, there’s also an audio recording.”
“Of what?”
“You shouting at her.”
My stomach tightened.
I remembered the argument.
Christmas.
Diane had opened a letter addressed to me.
I told her to get out of my office.
I raised my voice.
Apparently, she recorded it.
Selective evidence.
Context removed.
Just enough to create doubt.
Dr. Morris sighed.
“I believe there is more going on.”
“But?”
“But we have procedures.”
“I know.”
“You’ll remain on leave.”
I hung up.
Then cried.
Not because I might lose my job.
Because it was the last stable thing.
The house felt contaminated.
My marriage was gone.
My finances were frozen.
My name appeared on fraudulent documents.
My professional reputation was under review.
People I barely knew were discussing whether I abused an elderly woman.
That afternoon, I made the mistake of reading comments online.
There are always two sides.
Medical workers think they’re above everyone.
Poor older woman probably depended on her.
Daughter-in-law sounds controlling.
I shut the phone off.
Rachel found me sitting in her conference room.
“Go home.”
“I don’t know where home is right now.”
She sat beside me.
For once, she did not speak like a lawyer.
“So decide later.”
I looked at her.
“Everybody keeps telling me not to make emotional decisions.”
“Correct.”
“My entire life is emotional right now.”
“Also correct.”
“I’m tired.”
“I know.”
“I’m tired of documenting.”
“I know.”
“I’m tired of proving things that happened to me.”
Rachel nodded.
“That is what abuse does.”
I looked at her.
She continued.
“It forces the injured person to become archivist, witness, lawyer, historian, and public relations department.”
“You don’t get to simply be hurt.”
“You have to establish that you were hurt correctly.”
I laughed weakly.
“That sounds terrible.”
“It is.”
Then she touched my arm.
“But records outlast performances.”
That evening, Officer Doyle called.
“We have a problem.”
Of course.
“What?”
“Diane is missing.”
“What do you mean missing?”
“She did not return to the condominium.”
“Jason?”
“Also not where expected.”
“Claire?”
“Her attorney says she doesn’t know.”
I stood.
“Do you believe her?”
“No.”
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A photograph arrived.
The blue folder.
Or what looked like it.
On a table.
Beside it, my wedding ring.
Except my wedding ring was still in Rachel’s office.
So the ring belonged to Jason.
A message followed.
Come to the cottage tomorrow at 6 a.m. alone if you want this finished without destroying your career.
I showed Doyle.
He replied immediately.
“Do not go.”
I stared at the photograph.
Then noticed something.
The folder was fake.
Mine had a scratch near the lower corner.
This one did not.
They were bluffing.
Then I remembered Jason’s earlier text.
You always react to the emergency in front of you.
They wanted me focused on the cottage.
Which meant something else was happening.
I looked at the photograph again.
In the background stood a lamp.
White ceramic.
Blue shade.
Not from the cottage.
I knew that lamp.
It was from Diane’s hidden condominium.
They were not at Seneca Lake.
They were fifteen minutes from my house.
May you like
And if they had sent the picture believing I would not recognize the lamp—
they had forgotten the person they spent two years underestimating.
