We didn't sleep that night.
Sarah arranged additional protection, though she refused to tell me exactly what measures had been taken.
I didn't ask.
I was beginning to understand that knowing everything was not always the same as being safe.
By morning, the story about Richard's mother had become stranger.
Her legal name was Eleanor Hale.
According to public records, she had died five years earlier.
According to a hospital database, she had been treated three months ago.
The death certificate had been filed by Martin.
The hospital record had been paid through an offshore account.
And the company connected to both transactions had one director.
Martin.
Elena stared at the records.
“So Richard's mother faked her death?”
Sarah nodded.
“That appears to be what happened.”
“Why?”
“We don't know.”
I looked at the photograph again.
Eleanor had been at Richard's wedding.
She had hugged me.
She had told me I was exactly the kind of woman her son needed.
I remembered those words differently now.
Not warmly.
Precisely.
Exactly the kind of woman.
What had she meant?
Sarah asked me to describe every interaction I had ever had with Eleanor.
I told her everything.
She had asked about my finances.
My parents.
My career.
Whether I intended to have children.
Whether I owned property.
Whether I had life insurance.
At the time, I had thought she was simply intrusive.
Now every question felt calculated.
There was one conversation I had forgotten.
It happened six months after my wedding.
Eleanor had asked me whether I had updated my will.
I laughed and told her I was too young to worry about that.
She had smiled.
“You never know what life will bring.”
I remembered the way she had looked at Richard.
At the time, I thought it was maternal concern.
Now I wondered.
Sarah sent the old conversation to investigators.
They began reconstructing the timeline.
Meanwhile, Richard remained in custody.
His lawyers requested another hearing.
The judge denied bail.
That afternoon, I received a letter.
It had been delivered by an attorney.
The envelope contained no return address.
Inside was a single photograph.
Richard standing beside Martin.
Behind them was Eleanor.
Alive.
The photograph was dated six years ago.
One year before my wedding.
On the back, someone had written:
“You were selected long before he proposed.”
I sat at the kitchen table for nearly an hour.
Then I called Rachel.
She answered immediately.
“What happened?”
I told her.
She was silent.
Finally she said, “I suspected something like this.”
“You knew?”
“No.”
“Then what did you suspect?”
“That Richard didn't choose women because he loved them.”
I waited.
“He chose women because someone had already evaluated them.”
My skin prickled.
Rachel described something I had never heard before.
When she met Richard, he already knew details about her finances.
He knew she had inherited money from her father.
He knew about her insurance.
He knew she was estranged from one sibling.
She had assumed he had researched her after they met.
“What if he knew before?”
“Yes.”
That was exactly what I feared.
We contacted Melissa.
She agreed to meet us again.
This time, she brought a laptop.
“I found this after you left.”
She opened a folder.
It contained spreadsheets.
Women.
Names.
Age.
Occupation.
Income.
Assets.
Insurance.
Family.
I saw my name.
Beside it were numbers.
Estimated net worth.
Insurance value.
Property.
Then a column labeled “Access.”
Mine said:
“R—direct.”
Rachel's said:
“R—direct.”
Audrey's said:
“R—direct.”
I felt nauseated.
“What is this?”
Melissa whispered, “A selection list.”
“For what?”
She looked at me.
“I don't know.”
The file contained dozens of names.
Some had red marks.
Some had green.
Some had no mark.
“What do the colors mean?”
“I never figured it out.”
We sent the file to Sarah.
She immediately ordered the laptop seized.
That night, we learned one of the women on the list had disappeared.
Her name was Dana.
She had been married to a man who died unexpectedly.
The insurance went to her husband.
Six months later, Dana vanished.
Her body had never been found.
I looked at the spreadsheet.
Her name was marked red.
I felt cold.
“How many women?”
Sarah answered quietly.
“Thirty-two.”
The number sat between us.
Thirty-two.
Rachel.
Audrey.
Me.
And twenty-nine others.
We spent the next two days tracing the names.
Some were alive.
Some had moved.
Three were dead.
Two had disappeared.
One had been declared missing.
Another had survived an unexplained poisoning.
The pattern was no longer theoretical.
There was a system.
But we still didn't know who controlled it.
Then the digital team cracked the Blue Thread folder.
Sarah called me personally.
“You need to come in.”
I arrived within twenty minutes.
She turned the monitor toward me.
There was a document.
A contract.
At the top was a company name.
Sterling Risk Solutions.
I stared.
“Sterling?”
“Yes.”
“My family name.”
Sarah nodded.
“It was registered before you married Richard.”
I looked at the incorporation date.
Seven years earlier.
Before Richard and I met.
Before the wedding.
Before the first date.
I looked at Sarah.
“Who owned it?”
She hesitated.
Then she said:
“You.”
I laughed because the alternative was screaming.
“I've never owned a company called that.”
“The documents say you did.”
“Then they're forged.”
Sarah pointed to another line.
The registered agent was Martin.
The bank account was controlled by Eleanor.
And the listed business purpose was insurance consulting.
I felt the room close around me.
They hadn't merely chosen me.
They had built something around my identity.
Something I didn't even know existed.
Then Sarah opened the final file.
It contained a photograph of me entering the restaurant on my anniversary.
The photograph had been taken from inside.
I stared at it.
Someone had been watching me that night.
Before Richard kissed Audrey.
Before Julian whispered to me.
Before I knew any of this.
Then Sarah zoomed in.
In the background, near the bar, stood Martin.
He was watching me.
Not Richard.
Me.
The question that had haunted me since the anonymous message finally had an answer.
Someone had been watching the watcher.
And Martin had been there from the beginning.
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: The Name Behind the False Company Finally Surfaced, and I Discovered Why Richard Had Needed Me to Believe Our Meeting Was Pure Chance
The Anniversary Message Arrived Just as I Saw My Husband Holding Another Woman Like He Had Nothing Left to Hide
Part 7 of 12
