I thought it was just a rash on my husband’s back—until the doctor saw it, turned pale, and whispered, “Don’t go home. Call the police. Now.”

hidden camera aimed directly at the worktable.

Then Ortiz called me.

“Natalie,” she said, “there’s another room.”

Inside, they found photos of me asleep, copies of my medical records, and a calendar counting down to our anniversary dinner.

Tomorrow night.

At the bottom, in Monica’s handwriting, were four words:

FINAL EXPOSURE. PAYMENT RELEASED.

I didn’t feel continue reading …