Suddenly, a terrible thought struck me. “Sarah, did you take those documents from his office? What if he notices they’re missing?”
The fear returned to her eyes. “I took pictures with my phone and put everything back. I don’t think he’ll notice.” But even as she said it, neither of us seemed convinced. Richard was meticulous.
“We need to call the police,” I decided, grabbing my phone.
“And say what?” Sarah challenged. “That he was talking about it on the phone? That we found documents showing he’s diverting money? We have no real proof of anything, Mom.”
She was right. It was our word against his: a respected businessman against a hysterical ex-wife and a troubled teenager. As we weighed our options, my phone vibrated. A text from Richard: Where are you? The guests are asking for you. His message seemed so normal, so mundane.
“What are we going to do now?” Sarah asked, her voice trembling.
We couldn’t go back home. That was clear. But we couldn’t just disappear, either. Richard had resources. He would find us.
“First, we need proof,” I finally decided. “Concrete proof we can take to the police.”
“Like what?”
“Like the substance he planned to use today.” The plan forming in my mind was risky, maybe even reckless. But as the initial terror gave way to a cold, calculating anger, I knew we had to act, and fast.
“We’re going back,” I announced, turning the key in the ignition.
“What?” Sarah’s eyes widened in panic. “Mom, have you lost your mind? He’s going to kill you!”
“Not if I get to him first,” I replied, surprised by the firmness in my own voice. “Think with me, Sarah. If we run now without proof, what happens? Richard will claim I had a breakdown, that I dragged you off on some irrational impulse. He’ll find us, and we’ll be even more vulnerable.” I made a sharp U-turn, heading back towards our house. “We need concrete evidence. The substance he plans to use today is our best shot.”
Sarah stared at me, her face a mixture of fear and admiration. “But how are we going to do it without him noticing?”
