Chapter 7 - Seventy-Two Hours
Three days.
That was all I had before my name became the center of a federal fraud investigation.
Dante’s lawyers arrived before noon.
They treated me differently once they understood the scale of the problem.
Not like a frightened woman who had kissed the wrong man at a party.
Like a witness who might bring down half the city.
Isabella Greco, Dante’s attorney, spread documents across the dining table.
“Your forged signature appears on loan guarantees.”
“Purchase agreements.”
“Environmental disclosures.”
“And two wire authorizations.”
“I never signed any of them.”
“I believe you.”
“Will investigators?”
She didn’t answer immediately.
“That depends on what we can prove.”
Dante stood by the window.
“Then prove it.”
Isabella ignored his tone.
“I need Evelyn’s old laptop, phone records, employment records, and anything showing where she was when these documents were executed.”
My apartment contained all of it.
Along with Nolan.
“I’ll go.”
Dante turned.
“No.”
I stared at him.
“You said I decide.”
His expression shifted.
I had caught him violating his own promise.
“You’re right.”
He paused.
“Then decide knowing Nolan may be waiting.”
“I’m still going.”
Dante nodded reluctantly.
“Marco goes with you.”
My apartment looked normal from outside.
Inside, every drawer had been opened.
My desk was empty.
My laptop was gone.
So were my tax files.
Passport.
Grandmother’s letters.
Everything.
Then I saw the broken picture frame beside the couch.
A photograph of Nolan and me lay beneath shattered glass.
Marco crouched near the bedroom door.
“Don’t touch anything.”
He pointed toward the wall.
A tiny black lens sat inside the smoke detector.
My stomach turned.
“There was a camera?”
Marco inspected it.
“More than one, probably.”
We found four.
Bedroom.
Kitchen.
Living room.
Home office.
Nolan hadn’t only controlled me.
He had recorded me.
For how long, I didn’t know.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A video appeared.
Nolan was sitting in my kitchen.
The timestamp showed two hours earlier.
He held my laptop.
Then he looked directly into the camera.
“Seventy-two hours, Evie.”
“Come home and fix this.”
“Or the world gets a very different version of our relationship.”
The video ended.
Marco’s face hardened.
“Blackmail.”
I barely heard him.
Because behind Nolan, reflected faintly in the microwave door, another person was standing in my kitchen.
A woman.
Red coat.
May you like
Sofia Moretti’s red coat.
---
