Chapter 6
I didn't go to see Sophie right away.
Because on the third day, Alex brought me some new evidence that changed everything about this case.
"You should probably sit down for this," Alex said, his voice sounding off when he called.
I met him at a café.
He slid a USB drive across the table. "There are two recordings and a bunch of screenshots on here."
"What kind of recordings?" I asked.
"Recordings of your husband talking to Sophie Lane," Alex said. "I have ways to pull call logs if I need to, but the recordings themselves were a lucky find.
"Her phone automatically records calls and backs them up to the cloud. The password was ridiculously easy to guess."
I didn't ask how he got her cloud account password. That wasn't my concern.
Back at home, I played the two recordings on my laptop.
The first recording was three minutes and seventeen seconds, made last month.
Michael's voice was low, sounded like he was somewhere private; probably his car.
"Soph, did you get the money I sent last time?" Michael asked.
"Yeah, I did. Thanks, Mike," Sophie replied. Her voice was bright and cheerful, with a hint of laughter.
"No need to thank me. You graduated, and it's tough in this city. Rent, car payments—it's a lot to handle. I'll help out however I can."
"But that's a lot of money. I'm afraid your wife will find out—"
"She won't know. I used my personal account, so it's not tied to our joint one."
I hit pause.
His personal account.
We signed a prenuptial agreement before we got married, kept our own accounts, and all income after marriage went into our joint account. But his company dividends and investment returns always ended up in his personal account.
All these years, I never checked his personal account because I trusted him.
I hit play again.
"Mike, sometimes I wonder if I'm doing the wrong thing. You have a family, and I shouldn't—" Sophie said.
"You're not doing anything wrong," Michael replied, his voice firm. "It's over between me and her. We're stuck together for now because of a bunch of reasons. Hang in there for me, alright?"
"Okay," Sophie whispered.
The recording ended.
I stared at the screen, tasting blood in my mouth. I must've bitten the inside of my lip without even realizing it.
I don't have any feelings for her anymore. I kept thinking about this sentence.
Last night, he was holding me close, his head resting on my shoulder, saying, "Emily, for your birthday next month, how about I take you to Iceland to see the Northern Lights?"
No feelings? Seriously?
I played the second recording.
This one was longer—six minutes and forty-two seconds. It was recorded two weeks ago.
Their voices sounded way more intimate. There was laughter, playful banter, and that sticky, lovey-dovey vibe you only get when two people are totally wrapped up in each other.
There was a part in the middle—
"Soph, did you finish organizing the project data?" Michael asked.
"It's done. Mike, are you really okay with giving me access to the database?" Sophie asked.
"Sure, I'll set it up for you. You're the product manager, you're supposed to see this stuff anyway."
"But Brian Summers might not be okay with it—"
"Brian can't interfere. I'm in charge of the tech stuff."
That part made me stop.
It wasn't the flirting that got to me. It was the "database access" part.
Michael's company is all about data security—they work with banks, insurance companies, even government agencies.
The core database is locked down with strict clearance levels, and a product manager who's only been there a year shouldn't be anywhere near that kind of access.
He gave her clearance way beyond what her job called for, because they were involved.
If his clients ever found out about this—
I closed my laptop and leaned back in my chair.
This wasn't about cheating anymore.
This was the kind of leverage that could take his whole company down.
I grabbed my phone and texted David: [We need to move up the plan. Let's meet tomorrow. Something new came up.]
He replied with one word: [Okay.]