Chapter 5 - The Morning After and Poisoned Messages
By 7:00 AM, the morning light was streaming through the hospital window, but the peace of the morning was shattered by the constant buzzing of my phone.
I had forty-two missed calls from Daniel’s cell phone—likely made from the precinct’s payphone—and dozens of text messages from his sister, Clara, and various members of the Maple Ridge social elite.
I sat up, the pain in my side now a dull, tight ache thanks to the nerve block Dr. Chen had administered. I opened the message thread from Clara.
I stared at the screen. Not a single word asking if I was okay. No inquiry about my broken ribs. No remorse for the woman who had paid Clara’s rent in Chicago for the last three years.
I took a screenshot of the messages and forwarded them to Marcus, then typed a single, cold response to Clara:
Evelyn: The rent payment for your Chicago loft is scheduled for the first of the month. I have just cancelled the automatic transfer. You have thirty days to find a co-signer or vacate the property. Do not contact me again.
Within seconds, my phone began to ring. It was an unknown number, but I knew it was Daniel’s defense attorney. I put the call on speaker and pressed record on my tablet.
"Evelyn? Thank God you answered," Daniel’s voice came through, sounding frantic, stripped of his usual arrogant poise. "They won't let me out without a fifty thousand dollar bond, Evie. And Mom’s bail is set at one hundred thousand. You need to call your bank and authorize the transfer. We can talk about this at home, okay? I’ll make Mom apologize. We can go to marriage counseling. Just... please, get us out of here."
"Daniel," I said, my voice cold and steady. "The bank accounts have been frozen. I’ve already removed you as an authorized user on my corporate accounts, and the joint credit cards have been cancelled."
"What?" Daniel’s voice dropped, replaced by a sudden, ugly panic. "You can't do that! That's marital property! I have a right to those accounts!"
"You have a right to whatever the divorce court awards you, Daniel," I replied. "And given that your mother broke my ribs while you watched, I don't think a judge is going to be very generous with you. Do not call this number again."
"Evelyn! You can't leave us in here! Evelyn—"
I hung up. I looked at Marcus, who had just walked into the room carrying a fresh cup of coffee and a stack of legal documents.
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"He's panicking," I said.
"Good," Marcus replied, handing me a pen. "Because we are about to cut off their oxygen entirely."
