Chapter 12 - The Digital Echoes of a Monster
I sat in my car,
the heater blasting against the chill that refused to leave my body.
The flash drive sat on the passenger seat,
shining under the dim interior light like a silver bullet.
I knew that once I plugged it in,
there was no going back to the woman who just wanted a divorce.
I would be a witness.
I would be a target.
I opened my laptop,
my fingers trembling as I inserted the drive into the port.
A single folder appeared on the screen,
labeled with a date from two years ago.
I clicked on the first file.
The sound of Ethan’s voice filled the car,
clear and confident,
the voice of the man I thought I knew.
"The transfer to the Caymans is complete,"
he was saying.
"We’ll route the next batch through the Mabel Vance Foundation.
It’s the perfect cover.
She doesn't even check the mail."
I felt a wave of nausea roll over me.
The foundation.
He had asked me to start a charity for underprivileged children shortly after he moved to Chicago.
I had been so touched,
thinking it was his way of staying connected to me and my values.
I had signed every document he sent,
trusting him with my name,
my reputation,
and my future.
The recording continued,
another voice joining in—a voice I didn't recognize,
deep and menacing.
"And the wife?
What if she gets curious?"
Ethan laughed,
the same soft laugh he had used when talking to Chloe on the video call.
"Mabel?
She’s a romantic.
She thinks I’m working late to build our dream home.
She’ll believe whatever I tell her as long as I say 'I love you' once a month."
I closed my eyes,
tears of pure,
unadulterated rage stinging my lids.
I wasn't just a wife he had cheated on.
I was his insurance policy.
I was the fall girl.
I listened for hours,
each recording a new layer of betrayal.
He talked about Chloe,
calling her a "necessary expense" to keep his spirits up while he did the "dirty work."
He talked about the house,
the one I loved,
as a "liquid asset" he could dump the moment things got too hot.
But the worst part was the way he spoke about me.
He didn't hate me.
He viewed me with a clinical indifference,
like a piece of equipment that had served its purpose.
By the time the last file finished,
the sun was high in the sky,
shining mockingly on the suburban landscape.
I realized then that the audit wasn't enough.
A divorce wasn't enough.
Ethan Vance didn't just deserve to be poor.
He deserved to be caged.
I pulled the drive from the laptop and tucked it into my bra,
the cold metal a constant reminder of the war I was now fighting.
I wasn't just Mabel Vance,
the scorned wife.
May you like
I was Mabel Vance,
the woman who was going to bury him.
