Chapter 5: The Private investigator’s report

The coffee shop was in a neighborhood Elena had never been to, deliberately chosen by Sarah to be far from anywhere Marcus might see them. Elena arrived ten minutes early, ordered a latte she didn’t want, and sat in a corner booth with her back to the wall.

She felt like a spy. Like someone in a movie, meeting a shady contact to exchange secrets. The absurdity of it would have been funny if her entire life wasn’t falling apart.

Sarah arrived exactly on time, carrying a slim leather portfolio. She ordered black coffee, scanned the shop once, old habits from her FBI days, Elena guessed, and slid into the booth across from her.

“You look terrible,” Sarah said bluntly.

“Thanks.”

“When’s the last time you slept?”

Elena couldn’t remember. “Just tell me what you found.”

Sarah studied her for a long moment, then opened the portfolio. Inside were printed photos, documents, what looked like phone records. A whole life laid out in paper form.

“Isabelle Laurent,” Sarah said, pulling out the top photo. “Born Isabelle Marie Crawford. Age thirty-two. Grew up in Charleston, South Carolina. Parents deceased, no siblings. Met Marcus Thorne at Columbia University when she was twenty-three and he was twenty-five.”

Elena already knew most of this. Marcus had told her about Isabelle in the early days of their marriage, back when he’d still pretended to share parts of himself.

“They dated for two years,” Sarah continued. “By all accounts, it was intense. Passionate. Volatile. They fought constantly, broke up three times, but always got back together. Until—”

“Until she died,” Elena finished.

“Until she supposedly died. March fifteenth, five years ago. Single-car accident on a rainy night outside Boston. Her car went off a bridge into the river. They recovered the car three days later.” Sarah pulled out another photo—a newspaper clipping. “But they never found a body.”

Elena stared at the headline: Local Woman Presumed Dead After Car Plunges Into River.

“They assumed she drowned and the body was swept away,” Sarah explained. “It happens more often than you’d think. Marcus identified her personal effects, purse, phone, jewelry. There was a funeral service. He was photographed looking devastated.” She showed Elena another clipping. Marcus in a black suit, face blank with grief.

Had it all been an act? Had he known Isabelle was alive even then?

“Six months later,” Sarah continued, “Isabelle surfaced in Monaco under her legal name. She married Harrison Laurent at city hall, a small ceremony, no guests. Harrison was eighty-three, in poor health, and worth approximately two billion dollars.”

“Let me guess,” Elena said. “No prenup.”

“Correct. Harrison had no children, no close family. His will left everything to his wife, assuming she remained unmarried for five years after his death. If she remarries before then, the entire fortune goes to various charities.”

“So she has to wait.”

“For another four and a half years, yes.” Sarah pulled out more documents. “Harrison Laurent died six months ago. Heart attack, officially. But I did some digging.” She lowered her voice. “His personal physician noted concerns about Harrison’s medication in the weeks before his death. Specifically, someone had been tampering with his prescriptions.”

Elena felt sick. “You think she killed him?”

“I think it’s highly suspicious. But without an autopsy, which Harrison’s will specifically forbade, there’s no way to prove it.” Sarah’s expression was grave. “The Monaco police did a cursory investigation. Nothing came of it. Isabelle inherited everything and immediately moved to New York.”

“When?”

“Three months ago.”

Three months. Isabelle had been in New York for three months, and Marcus had somehow found her. Or had he always known where she was?

“That brings us to your husband,” Sarah said, pulling out phone records. “Marcus Thorne has been in contact with Isabelle for approximately eight weeks. Regular calls, increasingly frequent. Text messages. And…” She pulled out printouts of credit card statements. “He’s been meeting her. Expensive restaurants, hotels, shows. He’s spending a lot of money on her, Elena.”

Elena’s hands clenched around her coffee cup. “Hotels?”

Sarah’s expression softened slightly. “I don’t have proof they’re sleeping together. The hotels could just be meeting places. But…”

“But it doesn’t matter, does it?” Elena’s voice was hollow. “Whether he’s physically cheating or just emotionally, he’s already gone.”

Sarah didn’t disagree.

Elena forced herself to look at the printouts. Dates, times, locations. A map of her husband’s infidelity laid out in black and white. There, their anniversary, when he’d claimed to be working late. He’d taken Isabelle to a five-star restaurant.

And there, last Tuesday, when he’d said he had a client dinner. He’d been at a jazz club with Isabelle until two AM.

Lie after lie after lie.

“There’s more,” Sarah said quietly. “And this is where it gets complicated.”

“How could it possibly get more complicated?”

Sarah pulled out another document, what looked like an email printout. “Three weeks ago, Isabelle sent Marcus an email. I was able to access it through some less-than-legal means, so this wouldn’t hold up in court. But you should read it.”

Elena took the paper with shaking hands.

Marcus,

I’ve missed you more than words can say. These five years apart have been torture. But I had to do it—had to secure our future. Harrison’s money is mine now, and in four more years, we can be together the way we always should have been.

But there’s one problem: your wife.

I need you to end things with her, Marcus. Cleanly. Permanently. And I have an idea that will make it easy.

I’ll explain when we meet. Just trust me, like you always have.

All my love,

I

Elena read it three times, her vision blurring. Then she looked up at Sarah.

“What’s her idea?” Elena’s voice didn’t sound like her own. “What’s Isabelle planning?”

“I don’t know yet. Marcus’s responses were vague, mostly just agreeing to meet and talk.” Sarah leaned forward. “But Elena, whatever Isabelle has planned, it’s not good. Women like her, women who fake their own deaths, who marry dying men for money, who manipulate people for fun, they don’t just let obstacles go. They destroy them.”

“She wants to destroy me.”

“And Marcus is going to help her.”

Elena set down the email and forced herself to breathe. In, out. In, out. Like Victoria had taught her during panic attacks.

“What do I do?” she whispered.

“You have options. You could confront Marcus with this evidence. File for divorce immediately. Or—” Sarah paused. “You could wait. Let Isabelle make her move. See what she’s planning. Gather more evidence.”

“That’s dangerous.”

“Yes. But it might also give you leverage. If Isabelle does something illegal, blackmail, fraud, assault, you could use that in divorce proceedings. Make sure you get everything you’re entitled to.”

Elena thought about that. Thought about waiting while Isabelle plotted against her. While Marcus helped his precious ex-girlfriend destroy their marriage.

It felt like swallowing poison and hoping you didn’t die.

But it also felt like the only way to win.

“How long?” Elena asked. “How long do I wait?”

“Not long. A week, maybe two. Whatever Isabelle has planned, she’ll move soon. She’s impatient, her psych profile shows she gets bored easily. She won’t drag this out.”

“And in the meantime?”

“You act normal. You don’t let Marcus know you suspect anything. And you document everything.” Sarah pulled out a small device. “This is a voice-activated recorder. Keep it in your purse. If Isabelle confronts you, if Marcus says anything incriminating, you’ll have proof.”

Elena took the device. It was small, innocuous-looking. Easy to hide.

Easy to use to destroy her husband.

“One more thing,” Sarah said. “You mentioned you have a trust fund. From your family.”

“I gave it up when I married Marcus. I wanted to prove I didn’t need their money.”

“That was stupid.”

Elena almost laughed. “Thanks for the honesty.”

“I’m serious. You need resources, Elena. You need money of your own, a place to go, a support system. If things go badly, if Isabelle’s plan involves harming you, you can’t rely on Marcus to protect you.”

“He wouldn’t hurt me.”

Sarah’s look was pitying. “He’s already hurting you. He just hasn’t gotten physical yet.”

The words hit like a slap. Because Sarah was right. Marcus might not have raised a hand to her, but he’d been destroying her slowly for five years. Death by a thousand cuts, each one small enough to justify, large enough to scar.

“My family won’t help me,” Elena said. “I burned those bridges.”

“Maybe. Or maybe they’re waiting for you to ask.” Sarah finished her coffee and stood up. “Think about it. In the meantime, I’ll keep digging. If I find out what Isabelle’s planning, I’ll call immediately.”

“Thank you.”

Sarah paused, then said awkwardly, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. No one deserves this.”

She left before Elena could respond.

Elena sat in the coffee shop for another hour, staring at the documents Sarah had left her. Evidence of Marcus’s betrayal. Proof that her marriage had been a lie from the start.

Finally, she gathered everything up and left.

On the drive home, her phone rang. Marcus.

“Where are you?” He sounded annoyed. “I came home for lunch and you weren’t here.”

Came home for lunch. Like it was something he did regularly, instead of once in five years.

“Running errands,” Elena said. “I’ll be home soon.”

“Okay. Listen, about that Boston trip…”

“You’re still going.”

“Yeah. But I wanted to…” He sighed. “Look, I know I’ve been absent lately. Work has been crazy. But when I get back from Boston, let’s do something. Take a trip, maybe. Just the two of us.”

A guilt trip. He was planning to leave her and felt bad about it, so he was making empty promises.

“That sounds nice,” Elena lied.

“Great. I’ll make reservations somewhere. You deserve it.”

He hung up before she could respond.

Elena drove the rest of the way home in silence. When she pulled into the driveway, she sat in the car for a long moment, gathering her strength.

Then she got out, walked inside, and smiled at her husband.

“I’m home,” she called out.

Marcus appeared from his office. “Good. I was starting to worry.”

Liar. He hadn’t worried about her in five years.

But Elena just smiled wider and said, “Sorry. The grocery store was packed.”

That night, she hid Sarah’s documents in her car, under the spare tire. She hid the recording device in her makeup bag. And she practiced her smile in the bathroom mirror until it looked natural.

By the time she went to bed, she’d almost convinced herself she could do this.

Almost.