Chapter 7 - The Master Bedroom
Pamela pressed play on the recording.
Hayden's frantic, trembling voice filled the library.
"Matilda! Matilda, answer the damn phone! You need to tell your grandmother's lawyers to drop these ridiculous charges! They locked me up! Do you hear me? I’m sitting in a cell with real criminals! Tell them it was all a mistake! We’re a family, Matilda! Think about Elise! She needs her father!"
The recording clicked off.
I sat silently, looking at the blank recorder screen. A year ago, that panic in his voice would have sent me running to fix things, terrified of upsetting him. Now, hearing him try to use our baby girl as a bargaining chip after ignoring her birth made my stomach turn.
"I need to go back to our old apartment," I said suddenly.
Grandma Margaret raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Because there are things there I need to see for myself," I replied, my voice growing steady. "And I need to pack the rest of my real life."
Two hours later, guarded by four security officers, I stepped into the cramped two-bedroom apartment Hayden and I had shared.
The air was stale. Dishes were piled in the sink.
I walked past the tiny living room with its stained secondhand couch and opened the master bedroom closet.
On my side hung three faded thrift-store coats, worn jeans, and cheap cotton shirts.
On Hayden’s side hung rows of custom tailored suits, Italian leather shoes, and designer jackets—items he kept hidden under garment bags, telling me they were "cheap work clothes from thrift stores" that he needed to look presentable for job interviews.
I reached up into the top cabinet of his closet and pulled down a metal lockbox I had never been allowed to touch.
One of the security guards stepped forward with a heavy set of lock picks provided by our legal team. Within five seconds, the latch clicked open.
May you like
Inside were three fake passports, half a dozen black credit cards under offshore LLC names, and a leather journal.
I opened the journal.
