My stomach dropped.
Emily had searched court records after Rebecca accidentally mentioned living in Arizona during a period when she had always claimed she was in California.
The second marriage had ended eight years earlier.
During the divorce, Rebecca’s former husband accused her of hiding debt, forging signatures, and moving money from a joint account.
No criminal charges had followed.
But Emily kept investigating.
Then she found something worse.
Rebecca had recently started a home-equity line application using financial information connected to my house.
My house.
The one I had purchased twenty-eight years earlier.
The application was incomplete, but Emily believed Rebecca intended to persuade—or trick—me into signing documents immediately after our wedding.
“She confronted Rebecca yesterday,” Sarah said. “Rebecca denied everything. Then last night Rebecca went to Emily’s apartment.”
“Why didn’t Emily call the police?”
“She did.”
“What?”
“The police came. Emily refused medical transport, but she filed a report. She was terrified you’d think she was trying to ruin the wedding.”
I sat down.
My own daughter had been afraid I would choose Rebecca over her.
That realization hurt worse than anything I had seen on the USB.
“Is she safe?”
“Yes.”
“I’m coming.”
I ended the call and put the laptop in its case.
When I opened the door, my best man, Michael, was waiting outside.
He was sixty-two, retired from the Chicago Police Department, and had been my closest friend since college.
“You look terrible,” he said.
“I need your help.”
Five minutes later, we were in his SUV.
I told him everything.
Michael listened without interrupting.
When I finished, he said, “Do not confront Rebecca alone.”
“I’m not going to.”
“Good.”
“I’m going to hear my daughter first.”
Sarah lived about twenty minutes away in Evanston.
Emily was awake when we arrived.
She sat on the living-room sofa in sweatpants and one of Sarah’s old college sweatshirts.
Her lower lip was bruised.
Dark finger-shaped marks circled her left wrist.
Noah immediately climbed into her lap.
Emily looked at me and started crying.
“Dad, I’m sorry.”
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