Chapter 6

I walked out of the police station. The sunlight was blinding.

My phone buzzed. It was William. "Emily, I looked into the car. The Mercedes-Benz was bought with company money, costing 260 thousand dollars. The invoice says 'business vehicle,' but Olivia was the one driving it. There are also some tax issues with this."

"Okay. Anything else?" I asked.

"Richard also owns a place at Phoenix Avenue, Southside. It's 678 square feet, and Michael transferred it to him three years ago."

"When exactly?"

"Same month you signed the postnuptial agreement."

I stood by the curb and laughed.

In the same month, he was signing the agreement with me, acting all meek, while secretly transferring the house to his dad.

Michael, did you think I'd only care about that piece of paper you signed?

"William, is it possible to recover that house?" I asked.

"If we can prove it was a transfer of joint marital property, then yes," William replied.

"Then let's pursue it."

"Alright. Emily, there's something else."

"What's it?"

"Linda came to see me today."

"What did she want?"

"She said she wanted to negotiate the divorce terms with you on Michael's behalf."

I froze for a second. Then I burst out laughing. "Divorce?"

"Yeah. Her exact words were, 'Let's settle this with dignity before things blow up.'"

"With dignity?"

"She said she'd give you 300 thousand dollars, but the houses and the cars would go to Michael."

I stood by the curb, holding my phone, and laughed for a long time.

So they thought 300 thousand dollars was all it took to buy me off?

"William, what did you say to her?" I asked.

"I told her I couldn't make decisions for you," William replied.

"Give her a message from me."

"What is it?"

"If she wants to negotiate, fine. But forget about 300 thousand dollars. I want every asset Michael owns, plus forty percent of the company. Not a cent less."

"Emily..."

"And let her know this: if anything shady turns up in Olivia's case, Michael could be looking at jail time. Then it won't be about the divorce anymore. It'll be about whether I decide to testify for him."

There was a long silence on the other end. "Got it. I'll pass it on."

I hung up and took a cab home.

On the way, I spotted a cake shop and had the driver pull over for a quick stop. I bought a slice of tiramisu.

When I got home, I sat in the living room and ate the cake, taking my time.

After six years, I finally felt that life was starting to taste a little sweet.

It was the third night when the doorbell rang. It was past nine, and I had showered and was in my pajamas.

Three sharp rings echoed from the doorbell.

I peeked through the peephole. Michael was standing outside. He must've gotten out of the hospital.

I opened the door. He was standing there, looking like he'd lost a lot of weight, his face pale and sickly. He had a bag of fruit in his hand. "Can I come in for a bit?"

I moved aside to let him in.

He sat down on the couch and set the fruit on the coffee table.

I stayed standing, leaning against the dining table with my arms crossed. "Go ahead."

He kept his head down, fidgeting with his hands. "Emily, I know I've let you down all these years."

"Heard you."

"I've been wanting to break things off with Olivia for a long time."

"Sure."

"I did go see her that night she died."

"What happened next?"

He looked up, his eyes red. "I sat downstairs for a bit, then went up and told her it was over. She freaked out, started throwing things, screamed at me, and threatened to expose everything about me."

"And then?"

"I walked out."

"You walked out?"

"Yeah. I swear, she was still fine when I left."

I looked at him. "Michael, your keycard logs show you went up to the 22nd floor at 12:51 AM. Olivia fell at 1:10 AM. You were at her place for almost twenty minutes."

He went pale. "How did you find out about the keycard records?"

"I know a lot more than you think."

"Emily, I didn't kill her." Michael shot to his feet, his voice cracking. "I swear I didn't. "

"What happened to your shoes?"

He was stunned. "What shoes are you talking about?"

"The brown leather shoes you left in. When you came back, you were wearing black sneakers. So where did those brown shoes end up?"

His lips moved, but no words came out. "I-I left in a rush, so I switched shoes," he finally said.

"Where exactly did you switch them?"

He didn't answer.

I looked at him. "Let me ask you again, Michael. How did Olivia die?"

He slumped back into the couch, covered his face with both hands, his shoulders shaking. "She was about to jump. She was standing outside the balcony railing, and I tried to pull her back. I grabbed her hand, but she broke free."

"She broke free?"

"She said, 'You don't deserve me.' Then she let go of my hand."

I looked at his face. His fingers couldn't hide the tears. I couldn't tell if he was crying or putting on a show. But one thing was crystal clear to me. "Did you actually try to pull her back?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"So your hands should have some marks, right?"

He paused, then removed his hands from his face, and opened his hands, fingers splayed. His hands were clean, not a scratch in sight.

"It's been five days. Any marks would've faded already."

I nodded. "Alright. Then tell me one last thing."

"What?"

"Why are you the beneficiary of Olivia's one-million-dollar accident insurance?"

He visibly stiffened. "What insurance?"

"Drop the act. Don't tell me you don't know about that policy."

He stayed silent and started avoiding my gaze.

I walked over to him, crouched down, and looked him straight in the eye. "Michael, I'm giving you one last shot."

"What shot?"

"Come clean about everything. If you do, I'll cover for you with the cops. I'll tell them you got home at eleven."