Chapter 2 - The Contents of the Bag
My hands trembled so violently that the box cutter nearly slipped from my grip. The odor that billowed out of the slit in the mattress was a suffocating mix of damp dust, old sweat, and something far more metallic—something sickly sweet and sharp, like copper left out in the rain.
I gagged, pressing the back of my hand against my mouth as I forced myself to cut further. The foam parted reluctantly, revealing the bulky outline of a heavy, dark green garbage bag tightly bound with industrial-grade zip ties. It was coated in a thin layer of white and green mold, as if whatever was inside had been sweating in the dark for months.
With my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird, I gripped the thick plastic and hauled it out onto the hardwood floor.
It was heavy—deceptively heavy.
I grabbed a pair of kitchen scissors from the bedside table and carefully snipped through the first zip tie. It snapped with a loud, echoing crack in the silent room. My fingers, slick with cold sweat, peeled back the heavy plastic fold.
Inside weren't old clothes, or forgotten keepsakes, or spoiled food.
Neatly stacked bundles of banded hundred-dollar bills filled the bottom of the bag, secured with thick rubber bands. Next to the cash sat a small, velvet jewelry box, its surface warped by moisture. Resting on top of it was a thick, leather-bound journal with water-damaged pages.
I reached out with a trembling finger and opened the velvet box.
My breath caught in my throat. Lying inside was a heavy, custom-made gold tennis bracelet encrusted with small diamonds. But it wasn't the sparkle that made my blood run cold. It was the dark, oxidized stains smeared across the clasp and links—stains that looked unmistakably like dried blood. Next to it was a woman’s silver signet ring with a unique initial engraved on the face: E.V.
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A wave of dizziness washed over me. I sat back hard on my heels, staring at the open bag on the floor.
This wasn’t just a stash of dirty money. This was evidence. Evidence of a crime hidden inches beneath the surface of the bed where I slept every single night beside my husband.
