My Mother-in-Law Framed Me for Corporate Theft and Took Our House — Then I Found Her Secret $5 Million Insurance Policy on My Husband
I sped home, my car’s engine screaming in protest. The sky had turned a bruised purple, and fat drops of rain began to splat against my windshield. I burst through the front door, shouting Mark’s name.
The house was silent. Too silent. His briefcase wasn’t on the hall table. His travel bag was gone.
“Mark!” I yelled, my voice hoarse. I ran into our bedroom, then his study. Empty.
A chill ran down my spine. He was gone. He had left already.
Just then, my own phone buzzed. It was Evelyn. My heart hammered. I almost didn’t answer, but some instinct told me to.
“Laura,” she said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Just calling to let you know Mark is safely on his way to the summit. A real shame you couldn’t be there to see him off.”
My grip tightened on the phone. “Evelyn, what have you done?”
“Why, nothing at all,” she purred. “Just being a diligent CEO. I personally drove him to the highway on-ramp. He’s driving the company sedan, of course. I even insisted he leave his personal phone with me to avoid any distractions during the corporate media blackout.”
A cold, hard knot formed in my stomach. She knew. She had planned this. She had ensured he was in that car, unreachable.
“You monster,” I whispered, the word barely audible.
She chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. “Such dramatics. One would think you cared more about the company than yourself.” Then the line went dead.
I hung up, my hands shaking. Evelyn. She had taken his phone, ensuring no one could warn him. She had forced him into the sabotaged vehicle.
I grabbed my car keys again, my mind clear despite the surge of adrenaline. I had to go after him. I had to try.
I tore out of the driveway, the rain now coming down in sheets, blurring the world outside my windshield. I aimed for Highway 9, the main route upstate. My phone was pressed against my ear, speed-dialing 911.
“State police, what is your emergency?” a calm voice asked.
“My husband,” I gasped, my voice cracking. “His car. The brakes are sabotaged. He’s on Highway 9, headed north. He’s driving a dark blue Higgins Logistics sedan. Please, you have to stop him!”
I gripped the steering wheel, peering through the wipers, trying to spot his distinctive car in the deluge. Rain pounded against my car, a frantic drumbeat against the clock. My high beams cut through the gloom, flashing wildly, hoping to catch his attention, to somehow communicate the silent, deadly threat racing just ahead.
More Stories
+ There are no comments
Add yours