AT OUR DAUGHTER’S $400,000 WEDDING AT THE PIERRE IN NEW YORK, MY HUSBAND SEATED HIS MISTRESS IN THE MOTHER-OF-THE-BRIDE CHAIR AND TOLD ME TO SIT IN THE BACK—BUT WHEN OUR DAUGHTER SAW WHO WAS SITTING BESIDE HER FATHER, SHE STOPPED WALKING DOWN THE A

The reception ended shortly after Richard’s arrest. The gossip was wild, but the genuine support from our true friends was overwhelming. Sophie and Daniel departed for their honeymoon, leaving me to face the wreckage of my marriage alone.

But Richard’s final words echoed in my mind for three days. Check the safety deposit box.

I knew about a joint box we held at a downtown bank, but we hadn't used it in years. It supposedly held our marriage certificate and some old family photos.

On Wednesday morning, I walked into the bank. The air was cool and sterile.

The bank manager, a polite man who had known Richard for years, escorted me to the vault. He looked uncomfortable, clearly aware of the scandal surrounding my husband.

“Your husband accessed this box two weeks ago, Mrs. Whitmore,” the manager murmured as he inserted the master key.

“Did he say why?” I asked, my heart pounding.

“No, ma'am. He just spent about twenty minutes alone in the viewing room.”

The manager pulled the long metal box from the wall and carried it to a private room. He left me alone, closing the heavy door behind him.

I sat at the small table, my hands trembling as I lifted the lid.

The marriage certificate was still there. So were the old photos.

But resting on top of them was a thick, sealed manila envelope. Written on the front, in Richard’s bold handwriting, was my name.

Diane.

I tore the envelope open.

Inside was a single document, stapled to a handwritten letter.

I read the document first. It was a life insurance policy. My life insurance policy.

The payout was for five million dollars.

But the terrifying part was the beneficiary line. It had been legally amended three weeks ago.

The beneficiary was no longer Sophie. It was Blair Montgomery.

I felt physically sick. Richard had transferred my life insurance to his mistress.

I picked up the handwritten letter.

Diane,

If you are reading this, it means my plans failed and I am likely sitting in a cell. You always were too stubborn to just let things go.

You think you won because you stopped me from taking the company money. But you don't understand the people I was dealing with.

I didn't steal that money to run away with Blair. I stole it to pay off a debt. I borrowed heavily from some very dangerous men to keep the business afloat five years ago. Men who don't care about police or corporate ledgers.

The two million was my final payment. Since you stopped the transfer, the debt is still active. And they know where you live.

I changed your insurance policy because I knew what would happen if I failed. Blair will get the payout when they come for you. Consider it my final severance package to her.

Good luck, Diane. You’re going to need it.

Richard.

The letter slipped from my fingers, fluttering onto the metal table.

My husband hadn't just been a cheater and a thief. He had been a coward. He had borrowed money from the mob, failed to pay it back, and set me up to be murdered so his mistress could collect the insurance money.

Panic clawed at my throat. I gathered the documents, shoved them into my purse, and sprinted out of the bank.

I needed to call the police. I needed protection.

I reached my car in the parking garage, my hands shaking so badly I could barely unlock the door.

I slid into the driver’s seat and locked the doors, pulling my phone from my purse.

Before I could dial 911, a heavy tap sounded on the passenger side window.

I screamed, dropping my phone.

A man in a dark suit was standing outside the glass. He didn't look like a hitman. He looked like an expensive lawyer.

He held up a piece of paper against the window.