We reached the condo twenty-two minutes later.
The front door was open.
That terrified me more than if it had been locked.
Chloe stood in the hallway barefoot, her face pale, both arms wrapped around herself.
The moment she saw me, she rushed forward.
“Sarah, I’m sorry.”
“Where did Eleanor go?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she drive?”
“Yes.”
“With the silver watch?”
Chloe nodded.
I stepped inside.

The condo looked different now.
Not because anything had changed.
Because I finally understood that David had been hiding an entire second life inside the rooms where we had eaten breakfast, argued over laundry, watched movies, and planned vacations we never got to take.
The wooden watch case sat open on his desk.
Five watches remained.
The empty space where the silver Omega had been looked enormous.
Raymond entered behind me.
“That was Thomas’s watch.”
I turned.
“You said David’s father gave it to him.”
“That’s what everyone believed.”
“What do you mean?”
Raymond looked toward Chloe.
Then at me.

“Thomas never gave David that watch.”
My chest tightened.
“Then who did?”
“David took it after Thomas died.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Chloe whispered, “Aunt Eleanor always hated that watch.”
I looked at her.
“Hated it?”
“She once told David to throw it away.”
“When?”
“Years ago. At Christmas.”
I remembered that Christmas.
David had disappeared onto the balcony with Eleanor after dinner.
When he came back inside, he was furious.
I had asked what happened.
He told me it was nothing.
Nothing.
That word had covered so many secrets in our marriage.

Nothing.
A work problem.
Nothing.
Family drama.
Nothing.
He couldn’t sleep.
Nothing.
He had been protecting me.
And I was beginning to hate how much protection looked like deception after someone died.
Martin and Rebecca arrived moments later.
Two police officers followed them.
We explained the break-in, the removed property, the threats, the photograph, and the missing watch.
One officer took notes.
The other inspected David’s office.
“Any reason to believe the watch itself is valuable?” he asked.
“Maybe financially,” I said.
“But I think something was hidden inside it.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Inside a watch?”
“Yes.”

“Do you have evidence?”
I showed him the message.
CHECK DAVID’S WATCH.
The officer read it twice.
“Who sent this?”
“I don’t know.”
“And you believe your mother-in-law took the watch because of this?”
“No. I believe she took it because she knew something was inside.”
The officer looked toward Chloe.
“Did you see her remove it?”
“Yes.”
“Did she say why?”
“No.”
“Did she threaten anyone?”
“No.”
That was the problem.
Eleanor had not behaved like someone panicking.
She had behaved like someone executing a plan.
Rebecca walked into the office and studied the empty watch case.
“What exactly was the watch?”
“Silver Omega,” I said.
“Old?”
“Maybe thirty years.”
Rebecca’s eyes narrowed.
“Mechanical?”
“I think so.”
She looked at Martin.
Then at me.
“There are places inside older watch cases where someone could hide a very small object.”
“Like what?”
“A micro-SD card.”
My stomach dropped.
Raymond stared at her.
“In a watch?”
“Behind the movement, depending on the model. Or inside a modified caseback.”
I immediately remembered something.
David had taken that watch to be serviced six months before his diagnosis.
When it came back, he refused to wear it.
I had teased him.
Why spend hundreds fixing a watch you never use?
He had smiled and said, “Some things are worth maintaining even if you never wear them.”
At the time it sounded sentimental.
Now it sounded like a clue.
“We need to find Eleanor.”
The officer asked, “Do you have her phone number?”
“Yes.”
I called.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
Raymond tried.
Voicemail.
Chloe tried.
This time the call rang.
Once.
Twice.
Then Eleanor answered.
Chloe froze.
“Aunt Eleanor?”
“What?”
Everyone in the room became still.
“Where are you?”
“Why?”
Chloe looked at me.
I mouthed, Keep her talking.
“People are worried.”
“No one needs to worry.”
“Did you take David’s watch?”
Silence.
Then Eleanor said, “It belongs to the family.”
I stepped closer to Chloe’s phone.
“You mean the watch you told him to throw away?”
Another silence.
Then:
“Sarah.”
“Yes.”
“You have made an enormous mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“Opening that folder.”
“You knew what was inside.”
“I knew enough.”
“You lied about the will.”
“I did what I had to do.”
“You broke into my home.”
“You think this is about your home?”
Her voice was changing.
The anger was disappearing.
Something else replaced it.
Fear.
“You think I care about a condo?” she said.
“You brought eight people here to empty it.”
“To find what David hid.”
Finally.
The truth.
The officers exchanged a glance.
I put the call on speaker.
“What did he hide in the watch?”
Eleanor did not answer.
“What is inside it?”
“You need to stop.”
“Where are you?”
“Go home, Sarah.”
“I am home.”
“No.”
Her voice became very quiet.
“You have not understood anything yet.”
“What am I supposed to understand?”
“That David did not leave you clues so you could finish his investigation.”
I froze.
Rebecca leaned forward.
“Then why did he leave them?”
Eleanor heard her.
“Who is that?”
“Rebecca Wynn.”
Eleanor inhaled sharply.
“You brought her into this?”
“She was already in it.”
“Rebecca, you should know better.”
Rebecca’s voice was calm.
“I know exactly what David asked me to do.”
“You know half of it.”
Rebecca’s face changed.
“What does that mean?”
Eleanor laughed once.
A cold, exhausted laugh.
“David didn’t trust lawyers either.”
Martin looked offended.
I barely noticed.
“What did David want me to do?” I asked.
Eleanor replied immediately.
“Run.”
The room went silent.
“You expect me to believe you?”
“No.”
“That’s convenient.”
“You think I’m the villain because you found forged documents with my name attached.”
“Were they forged?”
“Yes.”
“By you?”
Silence.
“Eleanor.”
“No.”
That answer stunned everyone.
I had expected denial.
Not that kind.
“Who forged David’s signature?”
“I don’t know.”
“You had access to the accounts.”
“I was instructed to.”
“By who?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because every time someone tries to identify the person behind Northbridge, someone gets hurt.”
My heart beat harder.
“Is that what happened to Thomas?”
The line went silent.
Raymond stepped closer.
“Eleanor.”
She inhaled.
Then whispered, “Thomas should have walked away.”
Raymond gripped the table.
“What happened to my brother?”
“I’m sorry.”
His face drained.
“What happened?”
“I’m sorry, Raymond.”
“That is not an answer.”
“I know.”
The call suddenly crackled.
Then Eleanor gasped.
A sound in the background.
A door slamming.
“Eleanor?” I said.
No answer.
Then her voice returned, lower now.
“Sarah, listen to me.”
I stood perfectly still.
“If you ever loved David, destroy the blue folder.”
“What is inside the watch?”
“Something that should never have existed.”
“Where are you?”
“Do not find me.”
Then the call ended.
Chloe started crying.
Raymond immediately dialed back.
No answer.
The police officer looked at me.
“Do you have location sharing enabled with her?”
“No.”
“Vehicle information?”
Chloe gave him the make, model, and plate.
He stepped aside and radioed it in.
Rebecca closed the office door.
“What did she mean by something that should never have existed?”
Martin looked at her.
“The ledger?”
“No. She would have called it records.”
I stared at David’s empty watch case.
Something that should never have existed.
A recording?
A file?
A photograph?
A list?
I walked toward the desk.
“What are you doing?” Rebecca asked.
“Thinking like David.”
I sat in his chair.
The same chair he had used for years.
His keyboard.
His lamp.
His books.
His drawer.
I remembered how methodical he was.
He labeled cables.
Backed up family photos twice.
Kept receipts from seven years ago.
If David hid something inside a watch, he would leave a way to recover it.
I opened the bottom drawer.
Empty.
Then the second.
Pens.
Old chargers.
Receipts.
Nothing.
Then I saw the desk clock.
It was analog.
A small brass clock David kept beside his monitor.
Its hands had stopped.
4:17.
“That clock needs a battery,” Chloe said.
“No.”
I remembered replacing the battery two months earlier.
I lifted it.
Heavy.
Too heavy.
I turned it over.
There was a felt backing.
One corner was loose.
I pulled.
A tiny key fell into my palm.
Rebecca stared.
“What does it open?”
I looked around the room.
David did not own a safe.
At least, I thought he didn’t.
Then Raymond pointed toward the bookshelf.
“Those law books.”
“What about them?”
“David hated law books.”
He was right.
David read biographies, history, economics.
But on the bottom shelf were six thick legal volumes.
I pulled one.
Nothing.
Second.
Nothing.
Third.
It would not move.
I pulled harder.
Click.
The entire bottom shelf released forward two inches.
Chloe gasped.
Behind it was a steel panel.
A hidden safe.
I stared at Raymond.
“Did you know about this?”
“No.”
The key fit.
Inside were three things.
A passport.
An envelope.
And a second watch.
Silver.
Omega.
Identical to the one Eleanor had taken.
Nobody spoke.
I lifted it carefully.
Chloe whispered, “Then what did she take?”
Rebecca stepped closer.
“A decoy.”
My skin prickled.
David had known.
He had known Eleanor would search his office.
He had known she would take the first watch she found.
He had prepared a duplicate.
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a note in David’s handwriting.
SARAH,
IF THE DECOY IS GONE, THEN MOM DID EXACTLY WHAT I EXPECTED.
THE REAL WATCH IS HERE.
DO NOT OPEN IT YOURSELF.
TAKE IT TO HENRY VALE.
TRUST HIM ONLY IF HE ASKS YOU THIS QUESTION:
“DID DAVID EVER FINISH THE CHESS GAME?”
YOUR ANSWER:
“HE LEFT THE KING STANDING.”
I read it aloud.
Martin frowned.
“Who is Henry Vale?”
Rebecca turned pale.
“I know.”
Everyone looked at her.
“He was Northbridge’s chief systems architect.”
“Was?”
“He resigned twelve years ago.”
“Where is he now?”
“No one knows.”
I held up the passport.
It was David’s.
But the name was wrong.
DANIEL HART.
The photo was David.
The date of birth was David’s.
Everything else belonged to someone who did not exist.
“Why did my husband have a false passport?”
Rebecca stared at it.
“I don’t know.”
I opened the back cover.
A folded piece of paper slipped out.
An address.
Wisconsin.
No city name I recognized.
Just a rural route and coordinates.
Below it, one sentence.
HENRY WILL EXPLAIN WHY DANIEL HART HAD TO EXIST.
Raymond whispered, “Who the hell was your husband?”
The question hurt more than he intended.
Because I did not know anymore.
My phone buzzed.
Police update.
Eleanor’s car had been located.
Abandoned.
On the lower level of a downtown parking garage.
The driver’s door was open.
Her purse was inside.
Her phone was on the seat.
The watch was gone.
Chloe covered her mouth.
“Was she taken?”
The officer did not answer.
He was listening to his radio.
Then his expression changed.
“They found something else.”
“What?”
“Inside the vehicle.”
He looked at me.
“A photograph.”
“Of what?”
“Your husband.”
My stomach dropped.
“When was it taken?”
The officer paused.
“Yesterday.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“No.”
“Mrs. Jenkins—”
“David died three days ago.”
“I understand.”
“No. You don’t understand.”
I stepped toward him.
“I buried my husband today.”
He nodded slowly.
“The photo appears to have a timestamp from yesterday afternoon.”
“That’s impossible.”
Rebecca took the officer’s phone when he showed us the image.
I saw David.
Or someone who looked exactly like him.
Walking into a building.
Alive.
Head down.
Wearing a gray coat I recognized.
The coat David had worn constantly before he became too thin for it.
Under the photograph, someone had written five words in black ink.
YOU BURIED THE WRONG MAN.

PART 5 — THE MAN IN DAVID’S COAT

I stared at the photograph until the room seemed to tilt around me.
David.
Yesterday.
Alive.
Impossible.
My husband’s face was unmistakable.
The same jaw.
The same deep-set eyes.
The small scar near his left eyebrow from a bicycle accident when he was fourteen.
And the gray coat.
I knew that coat.
I had bought it for him on our seventh anniversary because he complained that every winter jacket made him look like a “retired detective.”
I had buried him without it.
Because the coat had disappeared months before his death.
At least, that was what I believed.
“You buried the wrong man.”
The words beneath the photograph seemed to pulse.
Chloe whispered, “Sarah…”
“No.”
My voice broke.
“No.”
The police officer stepped closer.
“We need to verify the image before drawing conclusions.”
“Then verify it.”
“We will.”
“Now.”
“Mrs. Jenkins—”
“I watched him die.”
Everyone became silent.
“I was there.”
My throat tightened.
“I held his hand.”
I could still hear the monitor.
The slowing beeps.
The nurse quietly lowering her eyes.
David’s fingers going slack inside mine.
“I watched the doctor pronounce him dead.”
Martin spoke gently.
“The photograph could be manipulated.”
I turned toward him.
“Then why was it in Eleanor’s abandoned car?”
Nobody answered.
Rebecca zoomed in on the image.
“Look at the background.”
Behind David was a glass entrance with part of a sign visible.
Only three letters.
V-A-L.
Henry Vale.
My pulse spiked.
“That can’t be coincidence.”
Rebecca nodded.
“It may be his building.”
“You know where he is?”
“No.”
“But David did.”
I looked at the address hidden inside the false passport.
Wisconsin.
Henry will explain why Daniel Hart had to exist.
The hidden watch.
The decoy.
The false passport.
The photograph.
My husband had built layers of secrets inside layers of secrets.
And now someone wanted me to believe he might still be alive.
I suddenly felt furious.
Not hopeful.
Not relieved.
Furious.
Because if David was alive, then everything I had suffered was a lie.
The hospital.
The hospice.
The funeral.
The coffin.
The dirt falling.
All of it.
But another voice inside me whispered something worse.
What if the man I buried was not David?
I looked at the officer.
“I need to see the body.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“The man I buried.”
“Sarah—”
“I want verification.”
Martin stepped forward.
“That may require legal authorization.”
“Get it.”
Rebecca watched me carefully.
“You are thinking someone substituted the body.”
“I don’t know what I’m thinking.”
I pressed both hands against my temples.
“I know what I saw.”
Chloe suddenly spoke.
“Did you ever see David after he died?”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“At the funeral home.”
“Yes.”
Her face was pale.
“Clearly?”
I opened my mouth.
Then stopped.
The funeral director had advised against an open casket.
David’s illness had changed him dramatically.
He had lost almost forty pounds.
His face had become hollow.
The cancer had turned my husband into a shadow of himself.
The casket had remained closed.
I had touched the polished wood.
Kissed my fingertips.
Pressed them against the lid.
But I had never seen his face after the hospital transferred his body.
My stomach turned.
“No.”
Raymond whispered, “Oh God.”
I looked at the officer.
“The hospital identified him.”
“Yes.”
“The death certificate?”
“Yes.”
“Fingerprints?”
He hesitated.
“Not routinely, unless required.”
“DNA?”
“No.”
“So everyone assumed the man was David because I said he was David.”
The officer remained careful.
“If he died while admitted under his identity, hospital records would reflect that identity.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“No.”
Rebecca stood.
“We need the hospital records.”
Martin nodded.
“And funeral home chain-of-custody documents.”
The officer looked between them.
“I’ll note both.”
My phone buzzed.
Another message.
UNKNOWN NUMBER.
I almost didn’t open it.
Then I did.
YOU ARE ASKING THE WRONG QUESTION.
Beneath it was another image.
This one showed David’s hospital room.
Taken from outside the glass panel in the door.
David was lying in bed.
I was beside him.
The timestamp read three days ago.
The night he died.
I zoomed in.
Someone had circled a figure standing at the far end of the hallway.
A man in medical scrubs.
His face was partially hidden by a surgical mask.
But his eyes were visible.
And he was staring directly toward David’s room.
A second message arrived.
ASK WHO SIGNED THE TRANSFER.
I showed it to Martin.
“The transfer?”
“From hospital to funeral home,” he said.
The officer immediately called someone.
Rebecca looked at me.
“David planned for you to uncover this.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“The messages.”
“Maybe they aren’t from David.”
“No.”
“But they know details only someone inside his plan should know.”
I hated that she was right.
Raymond walked toward the window.
“What if Eleanor knew?”
I looked at him.
“Knew what?”
“That David didn’t die.”
Chloe shook her head immediately.
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because when we left the funeral today, she was crying.”
“She could fake tears.”
Chloe looked at me.
“You didn’t see her in the car.”
“What happened?”
“She kept saying, ‘You stupid boy.’”
My body went cold.
“Those exact words?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
Chloe thought.
“She said, ‘You promised me you wouldn’t go this far.’”
Rebecca and Martin exchanged a look.
I stared at Chloe.
“And you didn’t think that was strange?”
“I thought she was grieving.”
Maybe she was.
Maybe Eleanor believed David was dead.
Or maybe she believed he had done something so dangerous that death was inevitable.
The officer ended his call.
“The funeral home is checking transfer documentation.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then we go there.”
“Sarah.”
“No.”
I grabbed my coat.
“I’m done waiting for other people to tell me what happened to my husband.”
Martin moved toward me.
“We should stay together.”
“Fine.”
Rebecca collected the documents.
“I’m coming.”
Raymond nodded.
“So am I.”
The officer raised a hand.
“You cannot interfere with evidence.”
“We won’t.”
He looked exhausted.
“Let me call ahead.”
Twenty minutes later, we entered the funeral home where I had arranged David’s burial.
Everything looked exactly as it had two days earlier.
Soft lights.
Cream walls.
Muted carpet.
The faint smell of flowers and disinfectant.
I hated the place immediately.
The funeral director, Mr. Collins, met us near the office.
He recognized me.
“Mrs. Jenkins.”
“I need to know who delivered my husband’s body.”
His expression changed.
“I’m sorry?”
“The hospital transfer.”
He looked toward the officer.
“What is this about?”
The officer showed identification.
“We need the transfer record for David Hayes.”
Mr. Collins nodded slowly.
“Of course.”
He led us into the office.
Files.
Forms.
Signatures.
Everything that made death administrative.
He found David’s folder.
“Here.”
The officer examined the first sheet.
“Transport received at 1:42 a.m.”
That matched.
David had died shortly before midnight.
“Who received the body?”
Mr. Collins pointed.
“One of our overnight staff.”
“Name?”
“Anthony Meyers.”
“Who delivered it?”
He frowned.
“The hospital’s contracted transport.”
“Driver?”
He turned the page.
Then stopped.
“What?”
The officer asked.
Mr. Collins stared at the signature.
“That’s strange.”
My heart began racing.
“What?”
“This driver doesn’t work for the hospital contractor.”
“Who is it?”
Mr. Collins turned the document toward us.
The signature was barely readable.
But the printed name below it was clear.
DANIEL HART.
The false name on David’s passport.
Nobody breathed.
I whispered, “No.”
Martin leaned closer.
“Daniel Hart delivered David’s body?”
Mr. Collins looked confused.
“I don’t know. That’s what the form says.”
Rebecca took out her phone.
“Can we see security footage?”
Mr. Collins hesitated.
“With police authorization.”
The officer nodded.
“Get it.”
We were taken into a small security room.
Mr. Collins searched the archive.
1:38 a.m.
A white transport van entered the rear driveway.
1:41.
Two men stepped out.
One wore a jacket.
The other wore medical scrubs.
The video quality was poor.
Mr. Collins enlarged it.
The man in the jacket walked around the van.
His face turned briefly toward the camera.
My knees almost gave out.
David.
Older.
Thinner.
But David.
Alive.
Rebecca caught my arm.
“Oh my God.”
The video continued.
David—if it was David—helped remove a covered stretcher from the van.
A body.
The man in scrubs opened the funeral-home service entrance.
Then David signed something.
Daniel Hart.
The name he had hidden in the false passport.
My mouth went dry.
“Play it again.”
Mr. Collins did.
David stepped from the van.
Looked toward the camera.
Helped deliver a corpse.
Then left.
At 1:49 a.m., the van drove away.
Eight hours after I had watched David die.
I stared at the screen.
“That’s him.”
Nobody contradicted me.
The officer said quietly, “We need to confirm identification.”
“I know my husband.”
He nodded.
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
I pointed at the screen.
“That is the man I buried today.”
Except it wasn’t.
Apparently.
My grief cracked open.
Underneath it was rage.
David had stood outside this building while I was home crying until I couldn’t breathe.
He had signed another man’s body into his own funeral.
Why?
Why would someone fake his death from his wife?
My phone rang.
Unknown.
I answered immediately.
“Who is this?”
Silence.
Then a man spoke.
Not distorted this time.
A voice I knew better than my own.
“Sarah.”
The room vanished.
I couldn’t breathe.
David.
No.
Impossible.
“Sarah, listen to me.”
My knees buckled.
Rebecca pulled a chair behind me.
I sat.
“David?”
Silence.
Then a shaky breath.
“Yes.”
I began crying instantly.
Not softly.
Not beautifully.
Every ounce of grief from the last three days tore out of me.
“You’re alive.”
“I am.”
“You’re alive.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?”
My voice became a scream.
“YOU’RE SORRY?”
Everyone in the security room stood frozen.
“You let me bury you!”
“I know.”
“I watched you die!”
“I know.”
“I held your hand!”
“I know.”
“WHO WAS THAT?”
David said nothing.
“WHO DID I WATCH DIE?”
His voice broke.
“A man who was already dying.”
My entire body went cold.
“What does that mean?”
“I can’t explain everything over the phone.”
“You will explain it now.”
“Sarah, Northbridge found Eleanor.”
I froze.
“What?”
“She took the decoy watch exactly like I expected.”
“You expected your mother to disappear?”
“No.”
“Then where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“You lied about being dead.”
Silence.
That silence hurt worse than anything.
I whispered, “Were you ever going to tell me?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“When you were safe.”
“I was safe until you turned my life into this nightmare.”
“I know.”
“No, David. Stop saying you know.”
He breathed slowly.
“I need you to listen.”
“Why?”
“Because the real watch contains something Northbridge cannot allow anyone to see.”
“What?”
“The ownership key.”
Rebecca leaned close enough to hear.
I put the phone on speaker.
“What is an ownership key?” she asked.
David went quiet.
Then:
“Rebecca?”
“Yes.”
“You found Sarah.”
“She found me.”
David almost laughed.
Almost.
Then his voice became serious.
“The ownership key is the one file that connects every shell company directly to the people controlling them.”
Rebecca went pale.
“You told me that file didn’t exist.”
“I lied.”
“Why?”
“Because two people died looking for it.”
Raymond stepped closer.
“Thomas?”
A long silence.
“Uncle Raymond?”
“Yes.”
David exhaled.
“My father found part of it.”
Raymond gripped the edge of the desk.
“Did they kill him?”
David did not answer immediately.
Then:
“I believe so.”
Raymond closed his eyes.
Chloe began crying again.
I felt numb.
“And you faked your death because you thought they would kill you too.”
“Yes.”
“Cancer too?”
“No.”
His answer came instantly.
“The cancer was real.”
That hurt differently.
“You were dying.”
“I still am.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
“I have weeks. Maybe less.”
Everything inside me collapsed again.
“You’re sick?”
“Yes.”
“But you’re alive.”
“For now.”
I pressed a fist against my mouth.
David continued.
“I needed Northbridge to believe I died before the cancer killed me.”
“So you staged your death.”
“Yes.”
“With whose body?”
“A man named Michael Reeves.”
“Who is he?”
“He had terminal cancer. No family. No identification anyone would immediately challenge.”
“You switched identities?”
“Temporarily.”
“How?”
“Sarah, please.”
“No. You don’t get to protect me anymore.”
He was silent.
“Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Henry Vale.”
Another silence.
“David.”
“You found the passport.”
“Yes.”
“Then you found the real watch.”
“Yes.”
His breathing changed.
“Do you have it with you?”
“No.”
“Where is it?”
“At the condo.”
He swore softly.
“Go back.”
“Why?”
“Because the message telling you to check the watch did not come from me.”
Everyone froze.
I looked at Rebecca.
“What?”
“I never sent that message.”
My skin turned cold.
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know.”
My mind raced.
Someone else knew.
Someone else knew about the watch.
Someone had guided me directly to it.
“David, who knows about the hidden safe?”
“Only me.”
“That isn’t possible.”
“I built it myself.”
“Then how did someone know?”
David went silent.
Rebecca whispered, “Unless someone was watching him build it.”
David heard.
“No.”
“Or someone had access to the condo.”
Chloe gasped.
The old key.
Eleanor’s key.
But Eleanor had taken the decoy.
Someone else could have entered too.
David’s voice sharpened.
“Sarah, leave the funeral home now.”
“Why?”
“Because if someone knew enough to send you toward the real watch, they know where you are in the sequence.”
“What sequence?”
“The contingency sequence.”
I remembered the messages.
The blue folder.
Martin.
The watch.
Each clue leading to another.
“You built the sequence.”
“Yes.”
“Then who hijacked it?”
“I don’t know.”
A noise sounded through the phone.
David went quiet.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“David?”
“Sarah.”
His voice changed.
Urgent.
Terrified.
“Do not go to Wisconsin.”
“Why?”
“Because Henry Vale is dead.”
Rebecca gasped.
“What?”
“He died nine years ago.”
I looked at the address in my hand.
“Then who is waiting at this address?”
David whispered something that made every person in the room go still.
“That is exactly what I have been trying to find out.”
Then the phone went dead.

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