out, still plugged into an outlet in a guest room off the master hallway.

It had recorded scraps of audio from upstairs.

The file was full of static and rustling, but one line came through clean enough to make every face in the room harden.

Trevor’s voice said, “Once the furnace kicks on, the police will call it an accident.”

Reyes exhaled slowly.

“This is strong,” she said.

“But if they lawyer up fast, they’ll say it’s an affair, a bad joke, a misunderstanding.

I want an overt act.

I want them caught doing it.”

I looked at Catherine in my foyer, pretending to be confused while an officer took her statement, and I knew Reyes was right.

If I wanted my daughter protected and my company saved, I couldn’t move on rage.

I had to move on proof.

That night I took Emma to my sister Leah’s house with an officer behind us the whole way.

Emma sat at my kitchen island there, wrapped in one of Leah’s cardigans, and asked the question I had been dreading.

“Is Mommy mad at me?”

My throat nearly closed.

“No,” I said.

“None of this is your fault.

You did exactly the right thing.”

She looked down at her hands.

“I thought if we left fast enough, you’d be okay.”

I crouched in front of her and held both of her small shoulders.

“You were right,” I said.

“You saved me.”

She didn’t smile.

She just nodded like she had accepted a job she never should have had to do.

Back at the station, Reyes helped me draft the text that would bait Catherine into finishing what she had started.

I sent: False alarm.

Emma heard a raccoon in the attic.

Dropped her at Leah’s for the night because she was worked up.

I’m exhausted.

Going home, taking something for my headache, and going to bed early.

Catherine replied a minute later.

Rest.

I’ll be back later.

That was all Reyes needed.

Rick and the tech team returned to my house before dark.

They cut the gas, installed cameras in the utility room, bedroom, office, kitchen, and mudroom, and left the altered wiring in place so Trevor would think nothing had been discovered.

My sedan went back into the garage.

A lamp in our bedroom was set on a timer.

From the street, everything looked normal.

At 10:17 p.m., I sat in an unmarked van parked half a block away with Reyes and Rick, watching live feeds from my own house on three screens.

I had never felt like more of a stranger inside my own life.

Trevor showed up first.

Dark jacket.

Tool bag.

Baseball cap pulled low.

He came through the side gate, glanced toward the street, and slipped into the mudroom using the same code I had given him years earlier because I trusted him.

Four minutes later Catherine parked around the corner and walked the rest of the way carrying a paper grocery bag.

The bag held two cans of soup and a loaf of bread.

Props for the alibi.

Inside the mudroom, Trevor hissed, “Why were cops here this afternoon?”

Catherine shut the door softly behind her.

“Emma heard us.”

“I told you to keep your voice down.”

“She’s seven,” Catherine snapped.

“Just finish it tonight.”

My