Chapter 2 - I PRETENDED I KNEW NOTHINGI did not confront Ryan.
That decision probably saved me.
Every instinct screamed at me to wake him, shove the phone into his face, and demand an explanation.
But fear has an unexpected way of sharpening the mind.
If Ryan and Kristina truly intended to kill me, letting them know I had discovered their plan would only make them change it.
So I took photographs of every message.
I used my own phone, because I did not want to forward anything from his device and leave a digital trail.
Then I returned Ryan's phone exactly where I had found it.
The following morning, I made coffee.
Ryan walked into the kitchen wearing navy slacks and a white dress shirt, his tie draped around his neck.
He kissed my cheek.
“You sleep at all?”
“Not really.”
He poured coffee.
“Thinking about the snake?”
I watched him carefully.
“Wouldn't you?”
“Of course.”
His hand rested briefly on my shoulder.
He seemed concerned.
Normal.
That terrified me more than anger would have.
I had known Ryan for fourteen years. We met at Emory University's alumni fundraiser when I was twenty-eight and still working out of a rented office with two employees and a secondhand server rack.
Ryan had money.
I had ambition.
He said that was what he loved about me.
His family had never felt the same.
Kristina tolerated me because Ryan wanted me.
His father, Charles Bellamy, treated me politely but kept our relationship formal.
To the Bellamys, I was always the woman who married upward.
That perception became increasingly ridiculous as Northstar grew.
By thirty-nine, I had more personal wealth than Ryan.
Apparently, that changed the equation.
“Mom called,” Ryan said casually.
I nearly dropped my spoon.
“Oh?”
“She heard about the snake.”
“From who?”
“I told her.”
Of course.
“What did she say?”
“That you're lucky.”
I forced a laugh.
“That's one word for it.”
Ryan watched me.
For one stretched second, neither of us spoke.
Then he smiled.
“You should work from home today.”
“I have a board meeting.”
“Cancel it.”
“I can't.”
He frowned.
“Amanda, you almost had a rattlesnake in your bed.”
Almost.
The word stayed with me.
He knew where the snake had been.
Animal control had told me they would speak with Ryan if needed, but I hadn't told him the exact location.
Maybe I was being paranoid.
Or maybe that one word had just confirmed everything.
“I'll be careful,” I said.
Twenty minutes later, he left.
I waited until his Mercedes disappeared around the corner.
Then I packed a bag.
Not enough to look like I was leaving.
Just important things.
Passport.
Birth certificate.
A backup laptop.
Several pieces of jewelry that belonged to my grandmother.
And the small encrypted drive containing Northstar's emergency corporate records.
I placed everything inside a gym bag and took it to my office.
Then I called the only attorney I trusted more than my husband.
Her name was Danielle Brooks.
She had handled Northstar's legal affairs since our first major acquisition.
When I told her what happened, she interrupted me only once.
“Amanda, are you somewhere safe?”
“Yes.”
“Is Ryan with you?”
“No.”
“Good. Stay where you are.”
I sent her the photographs.
There was silence on the line.
Then she said, “This isn't divorce-lawyer territory yet.”
“What territory is it?”
“Police.”
“I know.”
“Then why haven't you called them?”
“Because I have three text messages that are alarming but ambiguous, and security footage showing his mother entering my bedroom. She could say she found the snake and was trying to remove it.”
“You saw her put it there.”
“I did.”
“That's testimony.”
“Kristina has money, lawyers, and a reputation for charitable work. If she realizes I know, she can build a story before investigators even arrive.”
Danielle sighed.
“You've thought about this.”
“All night.”
“What do you want?”
I looked through the glass wall of my office.
Beyond it were nearly eighty employees working in a company I had built from almost nothing.
I had spent seventeen years learning that winning rarely came from reacting first.
It came from understanding the whole board.
“I want to know why.”
“The money seems obvious.”
“Twenty-five million isn't enough.”
“For most people, Amanda, that's a motive.”
“Not for the Bellamys.”
Ryan had inherited several million dollars years earlier. Kristina and Charles lived on an estate worth nearly nine million.
Something else was wrong.
Danielle agreed.
“Then we start carefully,” she said. “And legally.”
She connected me with a former federal investigator named Marcus Shaw.
Marcus was fifty-six, broad-shouldered, gray-haired, and spoke in short sentences.
He met me that afternoon.
I told him everything.
When I finished, he asked one question.
“Any recent changes in your husband's behavior?”
I thought about it.
Longer hours.
More unexplained meetings.
Password changes.
An unusual interest in my financial documents.
Six weeks earlier, Ryan had asked whether my life insurance would still pay if I died outside the United States.
At the time, we had been discussing a trip to Costa Rica.
Now the memory felt sinister.
“He's been asking about estate planning,” I said.
Marcus wrote it down.
“Financial trouble?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Affair?”
“I don't think so.”
“That wasn't the question.”
I swallowed.
“I haven't found evidence.”
“Different answer.”
He closed his notebook.
“Do not investigate him yourself. Do not access accounts you aren't legally entitled to access. Do not follow him. Do not confront his mother. Let me work through lawful channels.”
“What should I do?”
“Act normal.”
That might have been the hardest instruction anyone had ever given me.
When I got home, Ryan was cooking pasta.
Kristina was sitting at our kitchen island.
For half a second, my body locked.
She smiled.
“Amanda.”
I looked at the woman I had watched hide a rattlesnake beneath my blanket.
Then I walked forward and kissed her cheek.
“Kristina. What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see how you're feeling.”
Her concern was flawless.
“I brought you soup.”
“That was thoughtful.”
Ryan poured wine.
I declined.
Kristina noticed.
“You always have wine with pasta.”
“Headache.”
She nodded slowly.
Dinner felt like theater.
Ryan complained about work.
Kristina discussed a charity luncheon.
I laughed at the appropriate moments while imagining the snake beneath my comforter.
After dinner, Kristina took my hand.
“You gave us such a fright yesterday.”
I looked at her gloved hands in my memory.
“I'm okay.”
“Life is so fragile.”
Her thumb stroked my knuckles.
“You never know when something terrible might happen.”
I smiled.
“You're absolutely right.”
For the first time, Kristina's expression shifted.
Only slightly.
Perhaps she heard something in my voice.
Then it disappeared.
At 9:30, she left.
Ryan went upstairs to shower.
I remained in the kitchen.
His briefcase sat beside the counter.
I had no intention of touching it.
Then his phone rang upstairs.
A second phone began vibrating inside the briefcase.
I stared at it.
Ryan had never mentioned owning another phone.
The zipper was partly open.
The vibration stopped.
Then started again.
I did not reach inside.
Marcus had told me not to investigate illegally.
But I didn't need to.
The screen was visible through the opening.
One line of text appeared.
UNKNOWN: The first attempt failed. What is Plan B?
My blood turned cold.
Footsteps sounded upstairs.
Ryan was coming down.
I stepped away from the briefcase just as he entered the kitchen.
His hair was wet.
His expression relaxed.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting water.”
He looked at the bag.
Then at me.
For the first time since I had discovered the messages, I saw suspicion in my husband's face.
“You didn't touch my briefcase, did you?”
I smiled.
“Why would I?”
Ryan held my gaze.
Then smiled back.
“No reason.”
But that night, he took the briefcase into the bedroom and locked it inside his closet safe.
And at 3:08 the next afternoon, Marcus called.
“I found something,” he said.
“What?”
“Your husband owes somebody money.”
“How much?”
“More than twenty-five million.”
I gripped my desk.
Marcus continued.
“And that's not the worst part.”
“What could possibly be worse?”
He paused.
“The debt isn't actually his.”
My stomach tightened.
May you like
“Then whose is it?”
“His mother's.”
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