THE SILVER POCKET WATCH

The drive back to our little blue house in Beaufort felt like a slow-motion nightmare.

Every shadow on the road looked like Wyatt’s truck. Every set of headlights in my rearview mirror made my chest tighten. I kept glancing back at Harper, who had fallen asleep against her window, exhausted by the sheer emotional weight of what she had done.

The woman in the black jacket.

The phrase echoed in my mind, rhythmic and terrifying. Nolan had never mentioned a woman in a black jacket. Wyatt had never mentioned one.

When we finally pulled into our driveway, the house was dark. The home Nolan and I had bought together. The porch where Wyatt had brought groceries, the front door Wyatt had fixed when the hinges squeaked. I had let the man who threatened my daughter paint her nursery. The violation of it made me violently ill.

I carried Harper inside, locked the deadbolt, fastened the chain, and carried her straight to my bedroom. I wasn't letting her sleep alone.

I stripped out of the heavy ivory wedding dress, leaving it in a heap on the hardwood floor like a shed skin. I pulled on sweatpants and one of Nolan’s old flannel shirts. I needed to feel him close.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the tarnished silver pocket watch resting on my nightstand.

Why would Wyatt hide it?

If he found it at the site, why lie?

Suddenly, heavy, urgent pounding echoed from the front door.

I jumped, my heart leaping into my throat.

“Emma! Open the door!”

It was Wyatt. His voice was muffled through the thick wood, but the demanding, frantic edge to it was unmistakable.

“Emma, please! We need to talk! You are having a panic attack, you aren’t thinking straight!”

He pounded again, the door rattling in its frame.

I crept down the hallway, keeping the lights off, and stood frozen in the foyer.

“Go away, Wyatt,” I said, keeping my voice steady despite the adrenaline flooding my veins. “If you don’t leave right now, I am calling the police.”

“You’re scaring Harper!” he shouted back. The manipulation was instantaneous. “You ruined our wedding over a misunderstanding, and now you’re traumatizing that little girl! Let me in so I can explain!”

“You threatened her in your truck,” I said coldly. “You told her I would disappear.”

Silence fell over the porch.

For ten long seconds, there was no pounding. No shouting.

When Wyatt spoke again, his voice was chillingly calm.

“Nolan kept a blue lockbox,” Wyatt said softly through the wood. “A metal firebox for his business receipts. I need it, Emma. It belongs to the company. Hand it out the door, and I’ll walk away tonight.”

My blood ran cold.

Nolan’s lockbox. After Nolan died, Wyatt told me all the company records were at his own house. I didn't even know Nolan had kept a lockbox at our home.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied.

“Find it, Emma,” Wyatt said, his voice dropping to a terrifying, quiet promise. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Do not make this harder than it has to be.”

I heard his heavy boots walk off the porch. I heard the engine of his truck start and the tires spit gravel as he peeled out of the driveway.

I didn't wait a single second.

I turned on all the lights. If Nolan had a lockbox, he would have hidden it where I wouldn't stumble upon it, but somewhere safe. Nolan was a creature of habit. He didn't trust banks, and he didn't trust safes that could be easily carried away.

He trusted the house he built.

I ran to the living room and stared at the massive brick fireplace Nolan had restored with his own two hands.

“Always leave one brick loose for emergencies,” Nolan had joked to me once, tapping the side of his nose. I thought he was just being charming.

I fell to my knees on the hearth and began pressing against the red bricks on the lower right side. The first ten were solid mortar. The eleventh wiggled.

I dug my fingernails into the grooved edge and pulled. The brick slid out, kicking up a cloud of old dust.

Behind it, nestled in a dark cavity, was a heavy blue metal firebox.

I dragged it out onto the rug. It was locked with a small padlock. I didn't have the key, so I went to the kitchen, grabbed a heavy meat tenderizer, and brought it down on the padlock with all my strength. On the third strike, the metal shattered.

I threw the lid open.

Inside were stacks of old permits, blueprints, and tax documents from their joint construction firm. But sitting right on top was a manila envelope.

I opened it and pulled out a single sheet of paper.

It was a bank statement for the company’s primary operating account, dated exactly three days before Nolan died.

I scanned the lines of deposits and withdrawals, my eyes stopping dead on the final transaction.

WIRE TRANSFER - OUTGOING.

The amount was staggering. $180,000.

The money had completely emptied the company’s operating reserves. But it wasn't the amount that made the room spin. It was the authorization signature at the bottom of the printed receipt.

It was signed by Wyatt Cole.

I flipped the page over. There was a handwritten note scrawled on the back in Nolan’s messy, blocky handwriting.

Wyatt drained the account. He’s paying her to look the other way. I’m stopping the wire tomorrow. I won’t let our guys get killed over cheap steel.

My husband hadn't fallen.

He was murdered.

He was murdered because he was going to expose Wyatt.

I stared at the receiving account name printed next to the $180,000 transfer.

ACCOUNT HOLDER: E. VANCE.

Before I could even process the name, a small voice spoke from the hallway behind me.

“Mommy?”

I spun around. Harper was standing in the doorway, rubbing her sleepy eyes, dragging her stuffed rabbit by its ear.

“I’m right here, baby,” I said, hastily shoving the paper back into the box.

Harper looked at the fireplace, then looked at me.

“Is that the paper the lady in the black jacket wanted?” Harper asked.

I froze. “What lady, Harper? When did you see a lady?”

Harper pointed a small finger toward the front window, out into the dark night.

“The lady who came to the house the morning Daddy died,” Harper said simply. “She wore a black jacket. She gave Wyatt a big envelope, and Wyatt told Daddy he had to go to Savannah right away.”

My entire world shattered.