I was wrong.
An officer approached Samuel carrying a phone recovered from Marcus’s pocket.
“We found several messages you may need to see.”
Samuel read the screen.
His expression changed.
“What is it?” I asked.
He hesitated.
Then he showed me.
The messages were between Marcus and someone identified only as V.
There were photographs of my house.
My bank.
The farm office.
A copy of my signature.
And one message sent at six that morning:
If she still refuses, use the backup plan. Make it look like an accident.
My knees nearly gave way.
Clara caught my arm.
“Who is V?” she demanded.
Samuel scrolled farther.
Then he found a photograph.
The man in the picture was smiling beside Marcus at a restaurant.
I recognized him immediately.
He was the financial adviser who had handled Daniel’s life insurance after his d/e/@/th.
He was also the man I had trusted with nearly every account I owned.
