Chapter 2: The Man Who Sat at Our Table
The gate swung open.
Brooke's husband, Daniel, stepped into the backyard.
He took one look at his wife — shoulder-deep in my pool, wearing nothing above the water — and went completely still.
"Brooke." His voice was quiet.
Dangerously quiet.
"What is this?"
Brooke opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Ethan had backed against the far wall of the pool, suddenly very interested in the water in front of him.
Daniel turned to me.
"Lauren.
How long has this been going on?"
I held up Brooke's dress and sandals.
"Long enough for her to have her own spot in my kitchen."
Something crossed his face that I recognized.
That specific kind of pain you feel when a truth you already suspected finally walks up and introduces itself.
"I found messages three weeks ago," he said quietly.
"She told me it was nothing."
Brooke pushed toward the pool steps.
"Daniel, please—"
"Don't." He held up one hand.
"Don't say a word right now."
The alarm was still blaring.
Two patrol officers appeared at the side gate.
Mrs.
Whitmore hadn't moved from her fence.
Ethan finally found his voice.
"Everyone needs to calm down.
This isn't what it looks like."
Daniel looked at him slowly.
"You've been in my house.
You sat at my dinner table."
Then he looked at me, and his expression shifted into something I didn't expect.
"There's something else you need to know about Ethan," he said.
"Something I should have told you a long time ago."
My phone buzzed again.
It wasn't the security system this time.
It was a text from a number I didn't recognize.
*Check his briefcase.
The one he keeps locked in the garage.*
---
What's inside that briefcase — and who sent Lauren that message?
The truth is bigger than anyone in that backyard realized.
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