I Took My Husband’s Phone In For Repair. The Technician, A Family Friend, Pulled Me Aside And Said,

And once that exists on paper, no one will believe anything you say.”

The truth of it hit me like cold water. I’d cornered him. And now he’d have no choice but to double down.

“What happens now?” I asked quietly. Robert checked his watch. “Now I have a call to make.

Then we’re going to sit down and discuss this like rational adults. We’re going to come to an agreement about how this ends—peacefully. Or I make the call.

Your choice, Stella.”

He walked out of the room, his phone already in his hand. I heard his study door close. I stood in our living room, shaking with rage and fear, and the awful realization that I’d underestimated him just as badly as he’d underestimated me.

My phone buzzed. A text from Marian. Found something urgent.

Can you come to the library? Don’t call. Just come.

I looked toward Robert’s study. Behind that closed door, he was making his call. To Laura.

To Dr. Patterson. To someone else.

I grabbed my purse and headed for the door. “Where are you going?” Robert’s voice came from the study doorway. “Out,” I said.

“We’re not finished talking.”

“Yes, we are. For now.” I met his eyes. “You said I have a choice.

I’m making it.”

“If you walk out that door, then what?” he asked, voice low. “Then you do whatever you’re going to do,” I said. “And I do whatever I need to do to survive it.”

It was a bluff.

I knew it. He probably knew it, too. But it bought me time.

I walked out of my house, got in my car, and drove away. In the rearview mirror, I saw Robert standing in the doorway, his phone pressed to his ear, watching me go. The October afternoon had turned gray.

Rain was coming. I could smell it in the air. At the library, Marian was waiting in her office, her face pale.

“What did you find?” I asked. She turned her computer screen toward me. On it was a news article from the Boston Globe dated eight months ago.

Dental practice owner found dead in apparent tragedy. Business partner under investigation. I read the article with growing horror.

Dr. James Cole, a Boston dentist, had been found dead in his home under circumstances investigators initially treated as personal and private. His business partner—a consultant named Laura Hardy—had been scrutinized for financial irregularities, but no charges were filed.

The practice had been sold shortly after. “There’s more,” Marian said quietly, clicking to another article. Two years before that.

Another dentist. Different state. Same pattern.

Laura Hardy as consultant. Sudden death. Practice liquidated.

“How many?” I whispered. “Three that I can find,” Marian said. “Maybe more.” Her hands were shaking.

“Stella, she’s done this before. She finds successful older men, helps them plan an exit strategy, and then they die. And every time she walks away with money, and no charges filed.”

Robert doesn’t know, I thought.

He thinks he’s using her. He thinks he’s the clever one. But she had been doing this longer than he could imagine.

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