“He would complain about the roof.”
“He would complain about everything.”
“And then fix it himself.”
She smiled.
The breeze moved through the marsh grass.
For the first time in nearly a year, I felt peace settle inside me.
Ryan was gone.
My mother was safe.
The money was recovered.
I had filed for divorce, changed my name back to Mercer, and transferred to a new position.
There were scars.
There would always be scars.
But we had survived.
For one evening, sitting beside the Chesapeake with my mother’s shoulder pressed lightly against mine, I believed the worst thing Ryan had stolen from me was money and fifteen years of trust.
I was wrong.
Three days later, Detective Vega called.
“I need you to come in.”
“Is something wrong with the plea agreement?”
“No.”
“My mother?”
“She’s fine.”
“Then what?”
A pause.
“We cracked the final encrypted drive.”
