speak with law enforcement away from her husband.”
Ethan took one step backward.
It was small, but everyone saw it.
Captain Reeves cleared his throat.
“I’ll arrange for a detective.”
“Not one selected by you,” I said.
His eyes sharpened.
“Be careful, Mrs.
Harper.”
“I am being careful.
That is why I sent copies of this folder to the district attorney’s domestic violence unit before opening the door.”
For the first time that night, Ethan looked afraid.
Not ashamed.
Not remorseful.
Afraid.
He recovered quickly.
Men like Ethan always did.
He placed one hand over his chest and softened his voice.
“Lily needs treatment.
She has been struggling for months.
I tried to protect her privacy, but apparently I made a mistake.”
“What treatment?” Daniel asked.
Ethan looked at him.
“Excuse me?”
“You said she has been struggling.
Which doctor is treating her?”
“That is confidential.”
“I am your attorney, Ethan.
Give me the name.”
Ethan’s silence lasted too long.
Daniel released his sleeve.
I turned another page in the folder.
It contained copies of text messages sent from Lily’s phone to several relatives.
The messages said she was overwhelmed, paranoid, and withdrawing from the family.
All had been sent during times when Ethan’s building access records showed him inside his office while Lily’s phone was connected to his private network.
“He wrote those,” I said.
“Lily did not.”
Ethan scoffed.
“You cannot prove who typed a message.”
“Not from a screenshot.
But the original phone can be examined.”
He glanced toward the road, calculating how quickly he could reach the hospital and how much damage he could still contain.
I saw the thought before he moved.
“An officer has Lily’s phone,” I said.
“It is already being preserved as evidence.”
The calculation vanished from his face.
Captain Reeves turned toward Ethan.
“Did you access your wife’s device without permission?”
“Of course not.
She gave me her passcode.
We are married.”
“That was not the question,” Daniel said.
Ethan rounded on him.
“Stop interrogating me.”
“Then stop giving me new problems every thirty seconds.”
Snow gathered on the shoulders of Ethan’s expensive coat.
He looked less like the immaculate real estate prince who appeared in society photographs and more like an ordinary man standing in the cold while his lies lost their protection.
I reached the final section of the folder.
Six months earlier, Lily had borrowed my car after hers failed to start.
She accidentally left behind a property packet from Ethan’s office.
I had intended to return it unopened, but a deed had slipped loose when I lifted the packet.
The purchaser was a company called Northglass Holdings.
I recognized the registered address.
It belonged to a vacant building involved in a custody case I had investigated years earlier.
That coincidence bothered me.
I searched public records and discovered Northglass had purchased three properties from distressed women during divorce proceedings.
Each sale occurred far below market value.
Each transaction had been arranged through companies connected to Ethan.
One of those women was Marissa Vale.
Another was Claire Donnelly.
Both had once dated him.
Both had reported abuse.
Both had later withdrawn their complaints after losing access to money, housing, and legal representation.
I found Marissa first.
She lived two counties away and worked nights at a rehabilitation clinic.
