Chapter 14 - The Hidden Box of Horrors
The police escorted me back to the house later that afternoon,
two uniformed officers walking beside me as I unlocked the front door.
The house felt different now,
it felt tainted,
like a crime scene covered in invisible blood.
I needed more clothes for Emily,
my laptop,
and any important documents I could find before Michael's lawyers figured out a way to lock me out.
"We will wait down here,
ma'am,"
one of the officers said,
standing firmly in the foyer.
I hurried up the stairs,
my heart pounding,
hating the feeling of being in this house,
hating the memories that clung to the walls.
I went into the master bedroom,
ignoring the neatly made bed that I had shared with a monster.
I walked into his walk-in closet,
pulling my suitcase from the top shelf,
and began throwing my clothes into it.
As I moved a stack of his heavy winter sweaters to reach my favorite jacket,
I noticed a strange,
hollow sound when I dropped the sweaters on the floor.
I froze,
looking down at the dark hardwood floorboards at the back of his closet.
One of the wooden planks was slightly uneven,
raised just a millimeter above the others.
My curiosity,
fueled by the adrenaline of the last twenty-four hours,
took over.
I dropped to my knees,
wedging my fingernails into the tiny gap,
and pulled upward with all my strength.
The plank popped loose,
revealing a small,
dark cavity hidden between the floor joists.
Inside the hole sat a sleek,
black metal lockbox,
the size of a thick dictionary.
My breath hitched in my throat,
and my hands trembled as I lifted the heavy box out of its hiding place.
It had a small digital keypad on the front.
I stared at it,
my mind racing,
trying to think of what a narcissist like Michael would use as a password.
His birthday?
Emily's birthday?
Our anniversary?
I tried them all,
and the box beeped a harsh red error light every single time.
Frustrated,
I sat back on my heels,
thinking about the man I had married,
the man obsessed with money,
power,
and control.
I typed in the date he made his first million-dollar deal at his firm,
a date he celebrated more than any family holiday.
The light flashed green,
and the metal latch clicked open with a satisfying sound.
I opened the lid,
and what I saw inside made my blood run absolutely cold,
freezing the breath in my lungs.
There were no stacks of cash,
no hidden gold,
no secret bank accounts.
There were life insurance policies.
Five of them,
all taken out in the last six months,
all bearing Emily's name as the insured,
and Michael as the sole beneficiary.
The total payout,
in the event of her accidental or unexplained death,
was over four million dollars.
He wasn't poisoning her to punish her,
he wasn't trying to control my behavior,
he was killing our child for money.
I pushed the policies aside,
my hands shaking so violently I tore the edge of the paper.
Beneath the insurance documents was a small,
black leather notebook,
filled with his neat,
precise handwriting.
I opened it,
reading the chilling,
methodical notes he had been taking for months.
"May 12th,
began introducing 5ml of solution into evening tea.
Slight nausea reported."
"May 18th,
increased dosage to 10ml.
Vomiting observed.
Subject is weakening,
but not fast enough."
He referred to his own daughter as a subject,
a science experiment he was conducting for a four-million-dollar prize.
But the last entry,
dated just two days ago,
was the one that truly broke me.
"Emily's timeline accelerated.
Must finalize the process before the weekend.
Sarah is becoming suspicious,
will need to begin her protocol next month."
Her protocol.
He was planning to kill me next.
I slammed the book shut,
a wave of pure,
unadulterated nausea washing over me,
forcing me to crawl to the bathroom just in time to empty my stomach into the toilet.
May you like
I had lived with a serial killer in the making,
a man who planned to slowly murder his entire family for a payout.
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