AT MY HUSBAND’S RETIREMENT DINNER, HIS MISTRESS HANDED ME HER PHONE AND ASKED ME TO TAKE THE “FAMILY PHOTO.” I WAS ABOUT TO SNAP THE PICTURE WHEN OUR DAUGHTER STOOD UP AND SAID

I dropped the heavy silver bracelet into my purse and grabbed the blue hard drive from the safe.

Emily rushed to the mahogany door, jiggling the brass handle aggressively. "It's locked from the outside! He overrode the electronic strike plate!"

"Richard!" I yelled at the intercom speaker on the wall. "Open this door! You can't keep us in here!"

Static crackled through the speaker, followed by Richard's cold, detached laugh. "I don't have to keep you in there for long, Maggie. Just long enough for the police to arrive."

"You called the police?" Dana gasped, her face turning pale.

"Of course I did," Richard said smoothly. "I told them my disgruntled, fired office manager and my estranged wife broke into my private office to steal corporate secrets. You're holding the hard drive right now, Maggie. When the cops walk in, they’ll catch you red-handed."

He was going to frame me. Just like he framed Matthew.

"He's destroying our credibility," Arthur muttered, pacing the floor. "If we're arrested for corporate burglary, any evidence we find in here becomes inadmissible fruit of the poisonous tree. And Matthew goes to prison."

"We can't let them find us with this drive," Emily said, her eyes darting around the massive corner office.

"There’s no other way out," Dana cried, pulling at her hair. "We’re on the fourteenth floor! We can't break a window!"

I stood in the center of the room, my heart hammering against my ribs. Thirty-four years of observing Richard. Thirty-four years of cleaning up his messes. I knew how he thought. He was arrogant, but he was also deeply paranoid.

"Dana," I said sharply, turning to the terrified woman. "When you managed this office, did Richard ever let the IT department handle his personal computer?"

Dana shook her head frantically. "Never. He always said he didn't trust them with sensitive client data."

"Exactly," I said, walking toward Richard's massive mahogany desk. "He doesn't trust anyone. Which means he wouldn't trust a single hard drive in a safe to hold all his leverage. If he framed David Lawson thirty years ago, and framed his own son today, he has insurance."

I dropped to my knees behind his desk and started pulling open drawers.

"Mom, what are you looking for?" Emily asked, kneeling beside me.

"I don't know," I admitted. "But Richard always taped a spare key under the kitchen sink. He hides things in plain sight."

I ran my hands under the lip of the heavy oak desk. Nothing. I checked the back of the drawers. Empty.

Then I looked at the framed photograph sitting proudly on his desk. It was a picture of Richard shaking hands with the Governor at a charity gala.

But the frame was unusually thick. Thicker than standard frames.

I grabbed the picture frame and pried the cardboard backing off.

Tucked flat against the photograph was a small, black microcassette tape.

"Arthur," I said, holding the tape up. "Look."

Arthur took the tape, his eyes widening. "Microcassettes were standard for dictation in the early nineties. Right around the time David Lawson disappeared."

"We don't have a player!" Emily panicked, glancing at the digital clock on the wall. "The police will be here in less than five minutes!"

"I have an old dictaphone in my briefcase," Arthur said quickly, rushing over to the table where he’d set his bag. "I use it for recording client wills."

He pulled out a small, rectangular tape player, popped the microcassette inside, and pressed play.

For a moment, there was only the hiss of static.

Then, a voice crackled through the small speaker. It was Richard, sounding younger, desperate.

"David, please. You can't take this to the police. I'll pay the money back. I just needed it to secure the Columbus contract!"

A second voice spoke. It was deeper, furious. David Lawson.

"You didn't borrow money, Richard. You stole it from our clients. You're a fraud. I'm going to the authorities in the morning, and I’m dissolving the partnership."

There was a sound of a scuffle. A heavy thud. Then, a sickening crack.

"David?" Richard's voice gasped on the tape, panicked and breathless. "David, get up. Get up!"

Silence hung on the tape for ten agonizing seconds.

Then, the sound of heavy breathing.

"He's dead," Richard whispered into the recorder. "I have to get him to the boat. I have to make it look like an accident."

The tape clicked off.

I felt the blood drain from my face. My husband wasn't just a thief. He was a murderer.

"He kept the tape," Arthur whispered, horrified. "He accidentally recorded the murder while he was dictating notes, and he kept the tape as a twisted souvenir."

Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder as they approached the high-rise building.

"The police are here," Dana cried. "They're going to arrest us!"

"No, they aren't," I said, my voice hardening into steel.

I grabbed the blue hard drive and the microcassette player. I walked over to the heavy mahogany door and slammed my fist against it.

"Richard!" I screamed. "I know you're standing right outside this door waiting for the cops!"

Silence from the intercom. Then, a hesitant static crackle.

"They're coming up the elevator, Maggie," Richard said, trying to sound confident, but a tremor of doubt laced his words.

"I found the tape, Richard!" I yelled. "The microcassette from 1994. The one with David Lawson's last words!"

A heavy, terrified silence fell over the intercom.

"You're lying," Richard choked out.

I held the dictaphone up to the speaker and pressed play. David's voice echoed loudly. "You're a fraud. I'm going to the authorities in the morning..."

I stopped the tape.

"Open the door, Richard," I ordered calmly. "Or when those police officers walk out of that elevator, I hand them a murder confession."

The lock on the mahogany door clicked loudly.

The door slowly swung open.

Richard stood in the hallway, his face entirely devoid of color, looking at me as if I were the grim reaper himself.

But he wasn't alone.