I stared through the peephole.
Two police officers.
Neither of them looked angry.
Neither looked confused.
They looked like they had come with a purpose.
I opened the door halfway.
“Can I help you?”
The older officer glanced at his partner, then back at me.
“Mrs. Carter?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Detective Harris. This is Officer Bennett.”
He reached into his jacket and showed me his badge.
“We need to ask you a few questions about your husband.”
My stomach tightened.
“My husband?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Is he hurt?”
Detective Harris paused.
“No.”
That somehow made me more nervous.
“Then what’s this about?”
He looked toward the house behind me.
“May we come inside?”
I stepped aside.
They entered.
Detective Harris pulled a small folder from beneath his arm and placed it on my dining table.
“How long has your husband been gone?”
“Since yesterday.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“Playa Sol resort.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“You knew?”
“I received a message from him.”
“What did it say?”
I unlocked my phone and showed him.
His face changed the moment he read the message.
I left with your best friend. We’re not coming back.
Detective Harris looked at Officer Bennett.
“That’s exactly what we were afraid of.”
I felt a chill run through me.
“What does that mean?”
He opened the folder.
Inside were photographs.
The first photograph showed my husband walking into a bank.
The second showed him meeting a man I had never seen before.
The third showed something that made my blood run cold.
My husband was standing outside a property office.
And beside him was my best friend.
But she wasn’t smiling.
She looked terrified.
“Who is that man?” I whispered.
“That’s what we’re trying to determine,” Detective Harris said.
He slid another photograph toward me.
“This was taken three days ago.”
It showed my husband carrying several boxes out of our garage.
I stared at the picture.
“Those were my documents.”
“What documents?”
“Property records. Tax files. Old financial statements.”
Detective Harris nodded slowly.
“Mrs. Carter, your husband has been moving money.”
“How much?”
He looked directly at me.
“Approximately eight hundred and forty thousand dollars.”
My chair scraped backward.
I almost fell into it.
“That’s impossible.”
“Is it?”
“My accounts are separate.”
“Some are.”
He opened another folder.
“But there are joint accounts you didn’t know existed.”
My mouth went dry.
“What are you saying?”
Detective Harris lowered his voice.
“We believe your husband has been preparing to disappear for several months.”
Suddenly everything made sen