One Access Card, One Big Secret

I bought the apartment—paid off in full—before Susanna Upton and I got married.

I was busy with work and often traveled, so I specifically hired a housekeeper, Yvonne Larson, to run errands and handle the house chores.

The smart lock that I had installed for the apartment came with access cards. I happened to have one spare access card left, so I gave it to Susanna and instructed her, "When Yvonne comes for the trial run as our housekeeper, give this card to her so it's easy for her to get in and out."

She took the card and gave me a warm, thoughtful smile. "Don't worry, honey. You can count on me."

But up until today, that card was still not in Yvonne's hands.

I logged into the smart lock application. It showed that over the past month, there had been 17 swipes with that particular access card. Susanna and I both entered the apartment using the fingerprint scanner, so who was using the card?

I was pondering that when the door opened. Susanna was home.

"Babe, Yvonne came late today. She said she couldn't get in without the access card. Didn't I tell you to give it to her a month ago?" I asked casually, as if I didn't think much of it.

Susanna, who was about to set down her handbag, paused and gave a nervous laugh. "Oh, that. I was so busy at the time. Maybe I forgot to give it to her. I'm not sure where I left that card now. I'll look for it and give it to her as soon as I find it."

"It's okay. It's not a big deal if you can't find it," I replied in a calm voice while setting down the newspaper. "I'll cancel the access card and report the loss to the property management tomorrow. I can just get a replacement card instead. It'd be far too inconvenient for Yvonne not to have one."

"No, don't do that!" Susanna abruptly turned around, her pitch rising several octaves.

After seeing the look of confusion I gave her, she quickly took my arm and said in a much softer voice, "What I mean is, it'll cost a few hundred dollars just to replace the card. There's no reason for us to waste that kind of money.

"It's definitely somewhere in the apartment. I'll just comb through the place carefully over the next couple of days. I'm sure I'll find it. You're always busy with work. Now that you're finally home and can relax, you shouldn't worry yourself with such petty matters.

"Look at you! You must have been stressing yourself out even more the last few days haven't you? You look so haggard now."

"Do I?"

"You most certainly do! You used to have such a healthy glow, you know, like a young man in his early 20s…"

With her playfully teasing me like that, I didn't bring up the access card again, but I still felt uneasy.

That night, while Susanne went to take a shower, I picked up her phone. The password hadn't changed—it was still my birthday.

There was nothing suspicious in her WhatsApp chat logs. Even the archive of her Instagram stories showed nothing unusual.

I checked her shopping applications and scrolled through her order history. It was mostly just ordinary household goods and daily necessities.

However, when I checked the archived orders, I saw the purchase of a branded men's watch a week ago. It had been delivered to her workplace, and the recipient's name was listed as Howie Neely.