Chapter 5: The Hidden Phone
Rebecca took the phone from my hand.
“Ryan, this is Rebecca Lawson. Do not move, transfer, destroy, delete, or alter any financial records.”
Ryan laughed nervously.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Your wife’s attorney.”
“This is a marital dispute.”
“Not anymore.”
His voice changed.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you just admitted that client money may be involved.”
“I didn’t admit anything.”
“You did.”
“That conversation was private.”
Rebecca looked at me.
I nodded.
She continued.
“You should retain your own counsel.”
Ryan hung up.
My hands were shaking.
Claire sat beside me.
“What did he mean by client money?”
Rebecca turned toward me.
“Tell me what Ryan does. Exactly.”
“He manages commercial property investments.”
“For whom?”
“Small investors. Some local business owners. A few family friends.”
“Does he hold funds directly?”
“I don’t know.”
Rebecca nodded slowly.
“We need a forensic accountant.”
The phrase made everything feel suddenly criminal.
Not messy.
Not emotional.
Criminal.
I pressed both hands against my belly.
Ava moved.
Rebecca noticed.
“Are you feeling okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“Any contractions?”
“No.”
“Pain?”
“Just stress.”
Claire stood.
“We’re calling her doctor.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re eight months pregnant and your husband just admitted he may have lost client money.”
I wanted to argue.
Then my stomach tightened.
Not pain exactly.
Pressure.
Rebecca’s expression changed.
“Call.”
My obstetrician told me to come in.
Two hours later, I was lying in an exam room listening to Ava’s heartbeat.
Strong.
Steady.
Beautiful.
I started crying.
The nurse squeezed my shoulder.
“She sounds great.”
I covered my face.
Everything else was collapsing.
But that sound was perfect.
My doctor, Dr. Patel, came in after checking the monitor.
“Baby looks good.”
I exhaled.
“And me?”
“You need rest.”
I almost laughed.
“Do you have a prescription for a different husband?”
She gave me a sad smile.
“I’ve heard worse requests.”
Then her expression became serious.
“Stress can affect your blood pressure and sleep. You’re thirty-four weeks. I want you taking this seriously.”
“I will.”
“No confrontations.”
Claire cleared her throat.
“I can enforce that.”
Dr. Patel looked at her.
“Good.”
My phone vibrated.
Another unknown number.
I ignored it.
Then it buzzed again.
A message.
Mrs. Carter, my name is Thomas Reed. I invested with Ryan. I need to speak with you urgently.
I showed Rebecca after leaving the appointment.
She frowned.
“Do you know him?”
“Yes.”
Thomas and his wife had been at our Christmas party.
He owned two hardware stores.
His wife had given Ava a handmade blanket.
My stomach twisted.
“How did he get my number?”
“Possibly Ryan’s records.”
Another message arrived.
Ryan isn’t answering. $120,000 of my retirement money was supposed to close on a property Friday.
Claire whispered, “Oh God.”
Rebecca told me not to respond yet.
By afternoon, three more people had contacted me.
Then five.
Ryan had stopped answering clients.
His office was apparently locked.
His assistant had gone home.
And rumors were spreading.
At five, Diane called again.
I ignored it.
She left a voicemail.
I listened.
“Emily, Ryan is here. He’s scaring me. I don’t think he’s going to hurt me, but he’s panicking. Please call me.”
Claire heard it.
“You are not going there.”
“I know.”
Then Diane called again.
And again.
Finally I answered.
“What’s happening?”
She whispered.
“He’s tearing through boxes in the garage.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ask him.”
“I did. He screamed at me.”
In the background, I heard something slam.
Then Ryan shouted.
“Who are you talking to?”
Diane whispered, “Emily.”
The line went dead.
My heart started pounding.
Claire reached for her phone.
“I’m calling the police.”
“Wait.”
“No.”
“What if he’s just looking for paperwork?”
“What if he isn’t?”
Rebecca had told me no confrontations.
She hadn’t said I needed to protect Ryan from consequences.
Claire called for a welfare check.
Twenty minutes later, Diane called back.
She sounded embarrassed and furious.
“The police are here.”
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“What was Ryan looking for?”
“I found out.”
I sat up.
“What?”
“A storage key.”
“Storage?”
“He has a unit downtown.”
I looked at Claire.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he find the key?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I have it.”
My pulse jumped.
“Why do you have it?”
“He gave me an envelope six months ago and told me to keep it somewhere safe.”
“What was inside?”
“A key and instructions.”
“What instructions?”
Diane started crying again.
“He said if something happened to him, I should empty the unit before anyone else found it.”
Claire leaned close.
“What’s in the unit?”
“I don’t know.”
I said, “Don’t touch it.”
“I won’t.”
“Give the key to Rebecca.”
“Who?”
“My lawyer.”
Ryan shouted in the background.
“Mom!”
Diane lowered her voice.
“I have to go.”
“Diane.”
“Yes?”
“If you hide anything for him now, you’re choosing him over Ava too.”
She went silent.
Then she whispered, “I know.”
The call ended.
Rebecca contacted a criminal attorney she trusted.
That was when the situation became frighteningly real.
They advised Diane not to enter the unit.
Instead, she should preserve the key and any written instructions.
By evening, Ryan still hadn’t contacted me.
That should have made me feel safer.
It didn’t.
Ryan had never handled losing control well.
When things went wrong at work, he paced.
When investments dipped, he couldn’t sleep.
When anyone questioned him, he became obsessed with proving he was right.
Now he was losing his wife, both women carrying his children, his clients, his money, and possibly his freedom.
At nine, Vanessa called.
“I think he’s outside.”
I stood.
“What?”
“I’m at my brother’s apartment.”
“Are you sure?”
“There’s a black SUV across the street. Ryan rented one last week while his car was being repaired.”
“Do not go outside.”
“I’m not.”
“Call the police.”
“My brother already did.”
I put her on speaker.
Claire listened.
Vanessa whispered, “Emily, there’s something I didn’t tell you.”
My stomach tightened.
“What now?”
“When I went through Ryan’s second phone, I saw messages between him and Marcus.”
“What kind of messages?”
“Marcus kept telling him to bring ‘the originals.’”
“Original what?”
“I don’t know.”
Then she said, “But there was one photograph.”
“What was it?”
“A folder.”
I waited.
Vanessa’s voice shook.
“Emily, your name was written on the tab.”
My skin went cold.
“My name?”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
“Underneath it were the words Trust Documents.”
I stopped breathing.
My mother had left me more than the money I used for our house.
She had created a trust.
Ryan had never been a beneficiary.
He had never been allowed to touch it.
And suddenly, I understood why losing the house might not have been the worst thing he had done.
I whispered, “He tried to get my inheritance.”
Claire stared at me.
Then a thought struck me.
I opened my banking app.
My trust account wasn’t accessible through our normal bank.
I hadn’t checked it in months because the funds were invested conservatively and managed by my mother’s longtime adviser.
I called him.
It went to voicemail.
Then I emailed him.
Ten minutes later, he called back.
“Emily?”
“Mr. Stein, I need you to check my trust.”
There was silence.
Then keyboard clicks.
“What am I looking for?”
“Any recent requests. Loans. Transfers. Anything involving my husband.”
More clicking.
Then he stopped.
“Emily.”
The way he said my name terrified me.
“What?”
“I received authorization three months ago requesting a partial distribution.”
My mouth went dry.
“I never requested one.”
“I declined it.”
Relief hit me so hard I almost cried.
Then he continued.
“But someone tried again last week.”
I closed my eyes.
“For how much?”
May you like
His answer turned my entire body cold.
“Four hundred thousand dollars.”
