Chapter 1 - THE CODE SHE WOULDN’T GIVE THEM
Margaret Reeves had Irene by the hair when the hammer struck the safe again.
The blow shook the bedroom wall hard enough to rattle the framed wedding photograph above the dresser.
“Give us the code.”
Irene curled tighter on the marble floor, one arm over her head and the other wrapped around the slight curve of her stomach.
Three months pregnant.
Three months of morning sickness, whispered plans for a nursery, and Austin pressing his palm against a belly that still looked almost unchanged.
Now his mother was dragging Irene upward by her hair while his sister stood beside the open wall safe with a framing hammer.
Carla’s emerald satin gown looked absurdly elegant against the destruction around her. She had forced the outer door open, scattering emergency cash, two rolls of gold coins, passports, and insurance papers across the carpet.
But she barely looked at the money.
She kept striking the narrow steel drawer built into the back of the safe.
“Scare her harder,” Carla snapped.
Margaret tightened her grip.
Irene cried out.
“You know what happens if that drawer opens,” Margaret said near her ear. “Stop pretending this is about you.”
Irene had heard the garage door twenty minutes earlier.
She had assumed Margaret had used the family keypad again.
Carla had appeared behind her carrying the hammer.
They had not come to talk.
The bedroom doorway was behind Margaret, partly hidden by the angle of the wall, and Irene saw movement there.
A dark suit.
Austin.
For half a second relief nearly made her collapse.
His London flight had been scheduled to leave Phoenix shortly before midnight. He was supposed to be somewhere over the Atlantic.
Instead he stood motionless beyond the doorway.
Phone raised.
Recording.
Irene understood before Margaret did.
Austin wasn’t hesitating because he was afraid.
He wanted proof.
Carla struck the drawer twice.
Metal screamed against metal.
Then she lifted the hammer and pointed it toward Irene.
Irene looked directly past Margaret.
“Austin will know.”
Carla followed her gaze.
Margaret released Irene so abruptly that Irene fell onto her elbow.
Austin stepped into the bedroom.
His face looked almost unfamiliar.
No panic. No confusion.
Just a coldness Irene had seen only twice in seven years of marriage.
“I recorded everything.”
Carla lowered the hammer.
Margaret stared at him.
For one strange moment, neither woman looked worried about the bruises forming along Irene’s cheek or the smashed safe.
Margaret looked at the small locked drawer.
Carla looked at the gray accordion file barely visible through the bent steel around it.
Then Margaret looked at Austin.
“Before you decide who the victim is,” she said, breathing hard, “ask your wife what she stole from your company.”
May you like
Austin’s eyes shifted to Irene.
And that tiny movement hurt almost as much as Margaret’s hand in her hair.
