Chapter 2

Three days later, I was discharged from the hospital.

Blake drove me home, and on the way, I suddenly said, "I want to go to the repair shop and take a look."

"What for?" Blake asked, gripping the steering wheel. "The car's totaled. The insurance company will cover it."

"I want to know why the brakes failed," I said.

Blake was silent for a few seconds before saying, "Maybe the brake pads were worn out. That car's been running for five years now."

"Didn't you check it last night?" I looked at him. "You said everything was fine."

"I'm not a professional. I might've missed something," Blake replied.

I didn't say anything else.

When we got home, Blake went to the kitchen to cook.

I sat down on the couch, pulled out my phone, and looked up a repair shop.

"Hey, I was wondering, what are the usual reasons for brakes to fail?" I asked.

The mechanic on the other end said, "It could be worn brake pads, a brake fluid leak, or a cracked brake line. Where's your car? I can take a look."

"It's at the traffic police station," I replied. "It's an accident vehicle."

"Then you'll need to ask the police for the inspection report," the mechanic said.

After hanging up, I felt more and more uneasy.

The next day, after Blake left for work, I went to the traffic police station.

The officer in the accident investigation department was very polite. "Ms. Todd, we've already inspected your car."

"And?" I asked.

"There was a brake fluid leak," the officer said, handing me a report. "The brake line was damaged, which caused all the brake fluid to drain out, so the brakes failed."

I took the report, my hands shaking a little. "Could this kind of damage be from normal wear and tear?"

The officer paused. "Hard to say. If it was just normal wear and tear, there'd usually be some warning signs, like the brakes getting softer over time. They wouldn't just suddenly fail. But if someone did it on purpose..."

He didn't finish, but I got the message.

"Can you help me get in touch with a mechanic who really knows cars?" I asked. "I want to have it checked again."

"Sure," the officer replied.

On the third day, I brought the mechanic over to the traffic police lot to take a look at the wrecked car.

The mechanic crawled under the car, and after about ten minutes, he came out, his expression pretty grim.

"Well?" I asked.

"The brake line's definitely busted," he said. "But the spot where it's damaged is really odd."

"What's odd about it?" I pressed.

The mechanic explained, "Usually, when brake lines get old, they break at the bends because that's where the pressure builds up. But on your car, the damage is on a straight part of the line."

He pointed underneath. "And the break is super clean, almost like someone sliced it with a tool."

My heart raced. "You mean..."

"I can't say for sure," he replied. "But if you ask me, this looks more like sabotage."

I stood next to the totaled car, my mind went totally blank.

Last night, Blake said he'd check my car.

This morning, he said he'd checked it and told me everything was fine.

But the brake line was busted.

I remembered the insurance policy Blake had shown me.

That was 1.5 million dollars.

And the beneficiary was Blake.

If I died, he'd get 1.5 million dollars.

A sudden chill ran through me.

He said insurance was his way of showing love, and I actually believed him.

It wasn't until the brakes failed that I realized some kinds of love could be deadly.

I didn't go home.

After leaving the traffic police station, I went to the property management office.

"I need to see the surveillance footage from the night of November 1st," I said.

The staff member glanced at me. "Which location?"

"Underground garage, Level B3, my parking spot," I replied.

"Just a moment," the staff member said.

Ten minutes later, the footage was loaded.

The time was November 1st, 11:17 PM.

Blake walked into the underground garage with the car keys in his hand.

He crouched down next to my car and pulled a small flashlight out of his pocket.

Then he crawled under the car.

The footage wasn't very clear, but I could tell he lingered under the car for quite a while.

At 11:34, he stood up, brushed the dust off his hands, and walked away.

It had been seventeen minutes.

He had been there under my car for seventeen minutes.

I sat in the property management office, my hands and feet icy cold.

"Ms. Todd?" the staff member asked, looking at me. "Are you okay?"

"Can you copy this footage for me?" I asked.

"Well..." the staff member hesitated. "We can't just hand out surveillance footage like that."

"I'm the owner, and that's my car. I have the right to see it," I said, showing my ID. "This footage might be related to my traffic accident. I need it as evidence."

The staff member thought for a moment and said, "Alright, you'll need to fill out an application form."

Half an hour later, I walked out with a USB drive in hand.

On the way home, I couldn't stop thinking about one question.

Why would Blake want to kill me?

We'd been married for three years. We weren't rich, but we got by. I made seven thousand dollars a month, and Blake, being in sales, earned anywhere from five thousand to seven thousand dollars.

We had a two-bedroom apartment with $250,000 left on the mortgage. Life was pretty uneventful, and nothing major ever came between us.

So why would he suddenly want to kill me?