Chapter 9 - The Woman at the WindowI did not sleep after seeing the SUV.
I called Detective Harris. Officers searched the parking lot but found nothing. No vehicle. No plate number. No witness.
“Could be press,” one officer said.
But press did not sit in the dark with headlights off outside the room of a woman whose husband had tried to have her killed.
By morning, the story had spread.
LOCAL BUSINESSMAN ARRESTED AFTER ALLEGED MURDER-FOR-HIRE PLOT.
They used Nathan’s professional photo from the Whitaker Foundation website. Clean suit. Warm smile. Trusted eyes.
The comments were worse than the headline.
Poor man, maybe the wife is framing him.
Women make things up during divorce.
He looks like such a good father.
I closed the laptop before Ava could see.
People love a monster until the mask slips in their own hands.
At noon, Rachel called me.
“I need to show you something.”
Detective Harris did not like it, but he allowed the meeting at the station.
Rachel brought a small cardboard box.
Inside were birthday cards Nathan had sent her. Receipts. Photos. A gold necklace.
And one black flash drive.
“I found it taped behind the drawer in his lake house desk,” she said. “I thought it was private pictures or something. I was too scared to open it.”
Detective Harris took it immediately.
“Did Nathan know you had this?”
Rachel shook her head.
“I don’t think so.”
But her voice was not convincing.
Three hours later, we knew why.
The flash drive contained video.
Not of me.
Of other women.
Detective Harris’s face looked older when he returned to the interview room.
“Claire, Nathan may be connected to at least two prior deaths.”
My body went cold.
“What deaths?”
“His first fiancée, Elise Warren. Died in a boating accident fourteen years ago. And his former assistant, Dana Moore. Apparent overdose six years ago.”
I gripped the table.
“I never knew about a fiancée.”
“There’s more,” Detective Harris said. “Both women had financial connections to Nathan. Both discovered irregular accounts before they died.”
Rachel began crying again.
I could not.
I had run out of tears.
Detective Harris placed a still image from the video on the table.
A woman with blonde hair stood outside a storage facility. The timestamp was from six years earlier. Dana Moore.
Behind her stood a man.
Roman Dale.
The same man who had entered my home.
I stared at the image.
“How many times has Nathan done this?”
Detective Harris did not answer.
He did not have to.
That evening, Rachel was moved to protective housing.
Ava and I were transferred to a different hotel.
As we packed, Ava reached under her pillow.
“Mommy, this was under there.”
She handed me a folded piece of hotel stationery.
My name was written across the front.
CLAIRE.
May you like
Inside were six words.
Your husband was not the beginning.
Related Stories
