PART 2 — THE HOUSE BEHIND THE TAPE
The officer's expression changed.
Not pity.
Not exactly.
Something worse.
Concern.
"Mrs. Hale," he said carefully, "when was the last time you spoke to your husband?"
Sophia tightened her grip on the steering wheel.
"This morning."
The officer exchanged a glance with another detective nearby.
Immediately, alarm bells began ringing in her mind.
"What happened?" she demanded.
Nobody answered.
Not right away.
Then a detective stepped forward.
"Your husband called 911 last night."
Sophia frowned.
"Why?"
The detective hesitated.
"He reported a break-in."
The words hit her strangely.
Marcus had never mentioned a break-in.
Not in his texts.
Not in his calls.
Nothing.
"Is he okay?"
Another pause.
Far too long.
Then:
"We don't know."
The world seemed to stop.
Sophia stared at him.
"What do you mean you don't know?"
The detective lowered his voice.
"When officers arrived, the house was empty."
A chill spread through her body.
"Empty?"
"There were signs of a struggle."
Sophia felt her heart hammering.
"No."
Furniture overturned.
Broken glass.
Blood.
The detective didn't need to say it.
She saw the answer in his eyes.
Something terrible had happened.
And Marcus was missing.
Then something even stranger emerged.
The detective opened a folder.
"Mrs. Hale... are you familiar with a company called NorthBridge Biotech?"
Sophia blinked.
"Marcus works there."
The detective nodded.
"We know."
His expression hardened.
"Three senior executives disappeared this week."
Sophia stared.
"What does that have to do with my husband?"
The detective looked directly at her.
"Your husband's name appears in all three investigations."
The words landed like a bomb.
Marcus?
The quiet accountant who forgot anniversaries and watered plants every Sunday?
Impossible.
Yet suddenly every detective on the street seemed interested in him.
Not as a victim.
As a suspect.
Sophia looked toward the yellow tape surrounding her home.
For the first time, fear replaced confusion.
Because she realized something horrifying.
Maybe she didn't know her husband as well as she thought.
That night, Sophia and baby Eliza were placed in a hotel under police protection.
She barely slept.
At 2:14 a.m., her phone vibrated.
One message.
Unknown number.
Three words.
DON'T TRUST THEM.
Attached was a photograph.
Marcus.
Alive.
Standing somewhere dark.
Holding a sign.
The sign contained only one sentence:
THEY TOOK THE WRONG PERSON.
Sophia stopped breathing.
Marcus wasn't dead.
Marcus wasn't missing.
May you like
Marcus was running.
And someone wanted her to know why.
