Chapter 12 - THE PERSON THEY THOUGHT WAS WEAK
Allison blamed herself for opening the door that morning.
I recognized the reflex because Ethan had trained me to carry responsibility for his choices.
I told her the missing laptop was a crime to report, not a failure to apologize for.
Mercer collected footage from the building and documented the theft.
Fortunately, Allison had synchronized most business emails to an account investigators could request through lawful process.
Ethan's attempt to erase the files had made their importance obvious.
My phone rang that afternoon with a call from a number I had memorized long ago.
Marjorie.
"This has gone too far," she said.
"You're correct."
"I want to talk woman to woman."
"Then start by telling the police the truth."
"I am your mother now," she said sharply.
"You have no mother. Don't forget who accepted you."
I felt grief rush up through me, not because her words were persuasive, but because she knew exactly where they would hurt.
My mother had died when I was a teenager.
Dad had been both parents to me, sometimes awkwardly and always faithfully.
I ended the call before Marjorie could use my loss as leverage again.
Martin advised me to retain a divorce lawyer.
Her name was Priya Desai, and she spoke with the confidence of someone who had watched threats turn into paperwork many times.
She explained the need to separate marital assets, preserve communications, and address Ethan's access to shared accounts through proper legal channels.
I did not want revenge to cloud the decisions I would have to live with afterward.
I wanted a life in which no one could turn my silence into consent.
When Ethan was formally served with divorce papers, he sent one short message.
"You won't get the shop."
Priya reviewed it, then looked at me.
"The shop is not his to promise or withhold," she said.
The next morning, someone broke the garage's front window.
May you like
Inside, painted across my father's workbench, were the words, "SELL OR BURY IT."
