Chapter 3 - THE WIFE I STOPPED BELIEVING
I called Rachel for the first time in eleven days.
She answered after six rings.
“What happened to Sophie?”
No hello.
No hesitation.
She already knew.
“Who told you?”
“Jenna.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course Jenna called her.
Rachel was still Sophie’s mother.
Whatever had happened between us had never changed that.
“Sophie’s okay physically.”
“What does that mean?”
“My mother tied her wrists.”
Silence.
Then Rachel said, very quietly, “What?”
“Rebecca was here too.”
Another silence.
This one was different.
Not shock.
Recognition.
“What were they looking for?”
“The blue box.”
Rachel breathed out.
“They know.”
“Know what?”
“Daniel, I tried to tell you.”
The words hurt because she did not say them triumphantly.
She sounded tired.
“What is MRC?”
Rachel did not answer immediately.
“MRC Advisory.”
“What is it?”
“A vendor your company paid for consulting services.”
“Our company uses dozens of consultants.”
“This one wasn’t real.”
I sat down.
Carter Supply Group had been built by my father twenty-seven years earlier.
After he died, I became managing partner.
Rebecca became chief financial officer.
Rachel had worked in internal compliance before Sophie was born and later consulted during annual audits.
She understood our books better than I did.
“How much?”
“When I stopped looking? Around three hundred thousand dollars.”
My throat tightened.
“Three hundred thousand?”
“Over two years.”
“To who?”
“That’s what I was trying to prove.”
I looked at Rachel’s unopened email again.
“You said Rebecca had server access.”
“She did.”
“She still does.”
“Then you need to stop talking to her about this.”
Too late.
I admitted that I had already confronted Rebecca.
Rachel swore under her breath.
“I know.”
“You warned me.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t listen.”
“No.”
She did not make it easier for me.
I respected her for that.
“Why did you hide the records in the house?”
“I didn’t.”
I frowned.
“The blue box—”
“Decoy.”
My pulse shifted.
“What was inside?”
“Copies of invoices. Nothing I couldn’t recreate.”
“Then why steal it?”
“Because Rebecca doesn’t know where the real backup is.”
I looked toward the hallway.
Sophie had said they kept asking about “Mommy’s little black thing.”
“A drive?”
“Yes.”
“Where is it?”
Rachel was quiet.
“I’m not telling you over the phone.”
I almost snapped at her.
Then I stopped myself.
She had spent months telling me our communications might be monitored.
I had called her paranoid.
Now someone had entered my house and tied our daughter to a bed while searching for her evidence.
“Fair.”
Rachel’s voice softened slightly.
“How is Sophie really?”
“Scared.”
“Did Margaret say anything to her?”
I hesitated.
Rachel heard it.
“What?”
“She told Sophie she’d end up just like her mother.”
Nothing came through the line for several seconds.
Then Rachel whispered, “Of course she did.”
“What does that mean?”
“They’re doing to Sophie what they did to me.”
My skin prickled.
“What did they do to you?”
“You already know what you thought I did.”
I remembered the accusations.
Rachel had become erratic.
Rachel sent hostile messages.
Rachel accused Rebecca of stealing.
Rachel screamed at Margaret.
Rachel supposedly told family members she wanted to take Sophie and disappear.
Rachel supposedly threatened to destroy Carter Supply.
The worst message had come from Rachel’s number.
You’ll never see Sophie again if Daniel chooses his family over me.
That message had convinced me to demand she leave the house until we could “figure things out.”
Rachel had denied sending it.
I had believed the screenshot.
“Were the messages fake?”
“Some were.”
“Some?”
“Some were mine, cut apart and rearranged. Others weren’t mine at all.”
My stomach twisted.
“Can you prove that?”
“I saved exports from my actual account.”
“Why didn’t you show me?”
“I did.”
I stared at the table.
“What?”
“I emailed them.”
I searched while she was still talking.
The emails were there.
Buried under dozens of family messages from Margaret and urgent business threads from Rebecca.
Rachel had sent them.
I had never opened them.
I felt sick.
Then Rachel said something worse.
“The night you told me to leave, Rebecca already knew you were going to do it.”
“How?”
“I heard her telling Margaret you’d finally ‘chosen correctly.’”
That could have been explained.
Until Rachel continued.
“The timestamp was eleven minutes before you called Rebecca to tell her.”
I stopped breathing.
Someone knew my decision before I told them.
Either they predicted it perfectly.
May you like
Or they helped manufacture the evidence that caused it.
📖 Rachel’s preserved account records suggested the messages that destroyed our marriage had been manipulated, and Rebecca appeared to know my decision before I ever told her. 👇
