Chapter 2 - THE ENVELOPE IN MY SUITCASE
Paramedics arrived before Julian came downstairs.
My eyes were flushed immediately.
The pain was brutal, but doctors later told me something that still makes my stomach turn.
Another prolonged exposure could have caused much worse damage.
Julian had raised that bottle again.
Evelyn had told him to spray me again.
That fact never left me.
Dad rode with me.
At the hospital, I finally asked:
“What happened to you?”
“Someone made sure you believed I was dead.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Dad had been in Switzerland negotiating the sale of a minority interest in Sterling Meridian, the logistics company he built over thirty years.
During the trip, his primary phone stopped working.
His email credentials changed.
Then someone sent him messages apparently from me.
I needed space.
I blamed him for interfering with my relationship.
I didn’t want contact.
Dad believed them.
For several weeks.
Then something felt wrong.
He asked his attorney, Daniel Price, to contact me directly.
Daniel received a response.
Supposedly from me.
Stop contacting Sophia.
She wants nothing to do with Charles.
Except I never wrote it.
Dad began investigating quietly.
Then I told him what Julian had told me.
The plane crash.
Dad went silent.
“Sophia, I flew commercial.”
There had never been a private plane.
No crash.
No death.
Someone manufactured an event that never happened.
Then Dad asked:
“What envelope did you bring?”
“The one you gave me last Christmas.”
His expression sharpened.
“You still have it?”
“Yes.”
“Did Julian know?”
“He saw me pack it.”
Dad stood.
“We need to secure it.”
Too late.
When the mansion was searched, my suitcase was open.
Clothing thrown everywhere.
The envelope was gone.
Julian was gone too.
He had left through a service exit.
But Evelyn remained.
And she suddenly claimed she knew nothing.
Dad didn’t argue.
He asked one question.
“Why did you say Switzerland?”
She froze.
“I guessed.”
“You guessed the exact country?”
No answer.
Then hospital staff handed Dad a plastic evidence bag containing my belongings.
My wedding ring.
Hairpins.
A torn section of veil.
And my phone.
Dad looked at it.
“May I?”
I unlocked it.
He opened settings.
Then frowned.
“What?”
He showed me something.
A device-management profile had been installed on my phone.
I didn’t recognize it.
Dad did.
It could redirect certain communications and control parts of the device.
“Who set up this phone?”
I knew the answer before I said it.
“Julian.”
For my birthday.
Three months after Dad supposedly died.
May you like
My husband hadn’t simply told me my father was dead.
He had made sure my father couldn’t prove otherwise.
