Chapter 4 - The Black Folder
Emily couldn’t sleep.
Every time someone walked past the hospital room, her eyes moved toward the door.
So I stayed beside her.
At two in the morning, she finally told me everything.
Three months earlier, Emily had begun noticing strange charges in accounts connected to Ethan’s development company.
She had studied finance in college.
Numbers made sense to her.
Ethan knew that.
That was why he had asked her to help organize records before an audit.
At first, Emily thought she was looking at ordinary business expenses.
Consulting fees.
Legal retainers.
Campaign donations.
Property payments.
Then she noticed the same six companies appearing again and again.
Each company received money from Prescott Development.
Within days, those companies sent similar amounts to judges, public officials, police charities, media consultants, and private accounts.
“It looked like washing money through legitimate businesses.”
Emily stared at the blanket.
“I asked Ethan about it.”
“What did he say?”
“He laughed.”
Her voice became bitter.
“He told me rich families don’t get rich by asking permission.”
I felt my jaw tighten.
Emily continued.
“A week later, he changed the passwords.”
That should have been the end.
But Emily had already seen enough to know something was wrong.
Then she found the black folder.
It was inside Ethan’s locked office.
The folder contained photographs.
Names.
Dates.
Copies of complaints.
Statements from women.
Several had reported abuse involving wealthy men connected to the Prescotts.
Every complaint had one thing in common.
It disappeared.
“I recognized one name.”
Emily wiped her eyes.
“Sarah Bell.”
“Who is she?”
“She worked for Margaret.”
Emily swallowed.
“She vanished two years ago.”
My stomach tightened.
“Vanished?”
“Margaret told everyone she moved to Florida.”
“Did she?”
Emily slowly shook her head.
“I don’t think so.”
That was when she decided to leave Ethan.
She packed a small suitcase.
She moved money into an account in her own name.
She called an attorney.
Then Ethan found the email.
“He came home early.”
Emily’s breathing became shallow.
“He asked me where I thought I was going.”
I took her hand.
“You don’t have to continue.”
“Yes.”
She looked at me.
“I do.”
Ethan took her phone.
Brandon took her car keys.
Margaret arrived twenty minutes later.
They told Emily she was exhausted.
Confused.
Unstable.
They said leaving would embarrass the family.
Emily threatened to call police.
Margaret laughed.
Then she said the sentence I would never forget.
“Which police?”
They moved Emily into the guesthouse behind the Prescott estate.
The windows opened only four inches.
The exterior door locked from the outside.
For three days, they tried to force her to sign documents declaring that she had suffered an emotional breakdown.
She refused.
On the fourth night, Ethan came in drunk.
He placed the black folder on the desk beside him.
And beside it was the memory card.
Emily waited until he passed out.
Then she took the card.
She hid it inside the seam of her pajama pants.
The next morning, she made her escape when a housekeeper forgot to secure the service entrance.
Emily ran through the woods.
She reached a road.
A delivery driver found her.
And somehow, before the ambulance arrived, she scratched one word onto the memory card with the broken edge of a hair clip.
RUN.
“I thought if something happened to me, somebody would understand.”
I squeezed her hand.
“I understand.”
She began crying again.
“I should have called you sooner.”
“You’re calling me now.”
“I thought I could handle it.”
“You survived it.”
Emily looked toward the window.
Then she whispered.
“There’s something else.”
I waited.
“The black folder had your name in it too.”
My blood went cold.
“My name?”
She nodded.
“There was a photograph of you.”
“From where?”
“I don’t know.”
“It showed you getting into your car at Fort Bragg.”
I said nothing.
Emily’s next words were even worse.
“Under the photograph, someone had written a date.”
“What date?”
She looked at me.
“Next Monday.”
It was Friday morning.
Three days away.
May you like
Whatever the Prescotts had planned, they hadn’t only been preparing for Emily.
They had been preparing for me.
