Chapter 3 - The Miami Meltdown
Three days later, I was sitting in the back of a black sedan, watching the skyline of the city move past me. I had left the state. I didn't want to be in the house when the process server finally caught up to him, or when the inevitable explosion of his life occurred.
I checked my phone. My inbox was a war zone.
Daniel had sent fifty emails, each one more unhinged than the last. He was accusing me of theft, of sabotage, of mental instability. But underneath the anger was a palpable, vibrating terror. He had no money. His credit cards were canceled. Olivia had apparently found out about the “lost” inheritance and was no longer playing the part of the supportive, pregnant mistress.
“Emma, please. Just talk to me. I’ll leave her. I swear. It was a mistake. We can start over. Please, I’m at a motel near the airport. I have nothing.”
I smiled, a thin, mirthless expression that didn't reach my eyes.
I opened a new message and began to type.
“Dear Daniel, you didn't have a mistake. You had a plan. And your plan had a flaw: you underestimated the person you were robbing. Keep the motel room. It’s the only place you’ll be staying for a long time.”
I hit send and deleted the thread.
My phone rang again. This time, it was a blocked number. I answered, knowing exactly who it was.
“You destroyed me,” Daniel hissed. His voice was raw, desperate. “Olivia is gone. She left with the few things I had left. The landlord is evicting me from the condo, and the lawyers are all saying the same thing: I have no grounds to fight the divorce because of the evidence you presented.”
“You’re not destroyed, Daniel,” I said quietly. “You’re just exposed. There’s a difference.”
“I’ll find you,” he threatened, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly register.
May you like
“No, you won’t,” I said. “Because you don't have the money to fuel a hunt, and you don't have the integrity to sustain a purpose. You’re a hollow man, Daniel. You always were. I just finally stopped filling you up.”
I hung up, turned off the phone, and dropped it into a heavy-duty trash bin at the terminal. I had a flight to catch. A real one.
