CHAP 3 — Don’t Touch That Phone
Ethan lunged for the phone like his life was inside it.
Maybe it was.
I stepped back fast, clutching it in both hands.
“Give me the phone!” he shouted. “Don’t touch that!”
Dr. Patel moved between us.
“Mr. Mercer, sit down.”
Ethan’s face twisted.
“This is my wife. This is private.”
“No,” Dr. Patel said. “This is a medical exam room, and I am calling law enforcement.”
I snapped a photo of Monica’s text with my own phone.
Then another.
Then I forwarded the screenshot to my evidence vault.
Ethan watched me do it, breath coming fast.
“Hannah,” he said, voice changing instantly. “Listen to me. You don’t understand.”
That was new.
He had not used my name like that in years.
Not as a person.
As a plea.
I looked at the screen again.
DID SHE TOUCH THE SAFE YET? WE NEED HER PRINTS BEFORE TONIGHT.
“What’s in the safe?”
His jaw tightened.
“Nothing.”
“What did you want my prints on?”
“It’s not like that.”
Dr. Patel’s nurse knocked once, then entered with a sealed specimen container and gloves. Her eyes flicked to Ethan’s back and widened before she caught herself.
Dr. Patel spoke quietly.
“There was an insect trapped beneath his waistband. I removed it during examination. It appears marked.”
Ethan cursed under his breath.
That tiny curse was another confession.
Marked.
Controlled.
Documented.
Not random.
Not detergent.
Not rash.
I stepped closer to the counter, careful not to touch anything else.
“Ethan, did you let insects feed on you so you could say I did it?”
He said nothing.
Dr. Patel looked at me sharply.
“Hannah,” he said, softer now, “do not go back to that house.”
Ethan laughed once.
“She’s dramatic. She’s always been dramatic.”
But the laugh failed.
Because I was smiling.
Not happily.
Coldly.
“I was a forensic accountant for seven years, Ethan. You’re both going to prison.”
His face changed.
For twelve years, Ethan had believed my silence belonged to him.
Now he understood it had been mine the whole time.
The police arrived twenty minutes later.
So did Diane Ruiz.
Diane was no longer my supervisor, but she was still exactly as terrifying as I remembered: gray suit, calm eyes, no patience for rich men explaining obvious evidence.
She listened to Dr. Patel.
Reviewed the photos.
Read Monica’s text.
Then looked at Ethan.
“Mr. Mercer, where is the safe?”
Ethan looked at me.
May you like
I smiled again.
“In the basement storage room,” I said. “The one he told me never to enter.”
