Chapter 3
I read Marcus's message three times.
Each time, the words seemed more terrifying.
You'll regret surviving it.
The man I had married that morning wasn't pretending anymore.
He was threatening me.
Aunt Evelyn took one look at my face and reached for the nurse's call button.
“We need the police.”
I nodded.
Within an hour, two detectives arrived at the hospital.
Detective Harris was a woman in her forties with calm brown eyes and a voice that made me feel safe enough to speak.
Her partner, Detective Brooks, carried a small notebook.
They asked me to describe everything from the moment I left the wedding reception.
I told them about the argument Marcus had started near the entrance.
He had been angry because I refused to sign an additional document before the ceremony.
He claimed it was a routine authorization allowing him to manage certain estate expenses.
I told him I wanted my attorney to review it.
He smiled in front of our guests.
But once we were alone, his expression changed.
“You don't trust me?” he asked.
“I trust you,” I replied. “I just don't understand why this can't wait.”
He leaned close enough that nobody else could hear.
“After everything I've done for you, you still treat me like a stranger.”
Then he walked away.
Twenty minutes later, he returned with my car keys.
He told me our photographer wanted a few private pictures at the boathouse.
He said he would meet me there after speaking to the wedding coordinator.
I believed him.
I took the keys.
I drove toward the lake.
And halfway down the private road, the brakes stopped responding.
Detective Harris looked up.
“Did you notice anything unusual before the vehicle entered the water?”
“The brake pedal felt wrong,” I said. “It went down without slowing the car.”
She wrote something in her notebook.
“Did anyone else have access to the vehicle?”
“Marcus did. He drove it that morning.”
“Anyone else?”
“I don't know.”
She nodded.
Then she asked about the moment Marcus entered the sinking car.
My voice shook as I described his hand over my mouth.
The detectives listened without interrupting.
When I finished, Harris asked whether I had any evidence.
I showed her the threatening message.
Her expression hardened.
“May we document this?”
I nodded immediately.
She photographed the screen and recorded the details.
Then she told me that investigators were examining the car and that a recovery team had been asked to look for my phone.
I clutched the blanket around my shoulders.
“Is Marcus going to be arrested?”
“I can't promise you what will happen today,” she said. “But we are taking your account seriously.”
That was the first thing anyone had said since the wedding that made me feel as though the truth might matter.
After the detectives left, Aunt Evelyn sat beside me.
“You need to know about the attorney.”
I turned toward her.
“Tell me.”
She explained that my mother's longtime attorney, Harold Mitchell, had handled the trust and property documents after her death.
He had known me since childhood.
When Marcus began asking questions about the estate, Harold initially assumed he was helping me manage household affairs.
But then Marcus requested copies of documents that had nothing to do with wedding planning.
He asked about beneficiary changes.
Trust distributions.
Property transfers.
And the process for obtaining authority if I became medically incapacitated.
My blood turned cold.
“He asked about what would happen if I couldn't make decisions?”
Evelyn nodded.
“Harold told him those matters required your consent and proper legal review.”
“What did Marcus say?”
“He claimed you were overwhelmed by grief and stress.”
I stared at her.
“My mother died three years ago.”
“I know.”
Evelyn looked furious.
“He was laying the groundwork to make you look incapable of managing your own affairs.”
I remembered the arguments.
Marcus had often told me I was too emotional.
Too sensitive.
Too easily influenced.
Whenever I questioned a financial decision, he said I was letting fear control me.
I had mistaken his confidence for wisdom.
Now I understood.
He had been teaching me to distrust myself.
The next morning, Harold arrived at the hospital carrying a briefcase.
He looked exhausted.
“Nia, I'm so sorry.”
I shook my head.
“You warned Aunt Evelyn?”
“I did.”
“Why didn't you tell me directly?”
His expression became pained.
“I tried.”
He opened his briefcase and removed several letters.
Each had been addressed to me.
The envelopes were marked as delivered.
I had never seen them.
“Marcus told my office you were traveling,” Harold explained. “Then he said you wanted all correspondence sent through him.”
I felt sick.
“He intercepted them.”
Harold nodded grimly.
“I now have serious concerns about that.”
He showed me a document Marcus had submitted two weeks earlier.
It was a proposed amendment to my estate planning arrangements.
If approved, it would have granted Marcus broad authority over certain assets under specified circumstances.
My signature appeared at the bottom.
I stared at it.
“That isn't my signature.”
Harold's face tightened.
“I was afraid you would say that.”
The room seemed to spin.
Marcus hadn't only planned to take my life.
He had been preparing to take everything I owned.
Then Harold revealed something even worse.
The amendment wasn't the only document.
Marcus had also submitted paperwork related to a substantial life insurance policy.
The beneficiary was listed as Marcus Reed.
I gripped the edge of the hospital bed.
“How much?”
Harold hesitated.
Then he answered.
“Two million dollars.”
Aunt Evelyn covered her mouth.
I stared at the papers.
My husband had married me that morning.
He had watched me drown that afternoon.
And if I had died, he stood to gain far more than the estate itself.
Harold placed another document on the bed.
“There is one more thing.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“The insurance application contains a medical declaration.”
I frowned.
“What kind of declaration?”
“It claims you had experienced serious emotional instability and had recently expressed thoughts of harming yourself.”
I stopped breathing.
“I never said that.”
Harold's voice grew quiet.
“I know.”
I stared at the false statement.
Then I understood exactly what Marcus had been planning.
May you like
He didn't just want me dead.
He wanted everyone to believe I had caused my own death.
