Shaw sat down across from me.
“Marissa Cole was Daniel Mercer’s business partner.”
I actually laughed.
Not because anything was amusing. Because the statement seemed impossible.
“My husband doesn’t have a business partner.”
Shaw kept her eyes on me.
“Mrs. Mercer, Daniel appears to have an entire life you know nothing about.”
That evening, they allowed me to leave.
I didn’t return home.
I checked into an airport hotel because I couldn’t imagine getting onto another flight alone.
At 11:46 p.m., my phone rang from an unfamiliar Illinois number.
I nearly ignored it.
Then I answered.
Marissa spoke before I could say anything.
“Claire?”
My stomach tightened.
“Why did you warn me?”
There was silence.
Then she said something that changed the entire situation.
“Because Daniel wasn’t trying to get the suitcase through security unnoticed.”
“What?”
“He knew the bag would be discovered.”
“Then why give it to me?”
Marissa lowered her voice.
“Because he wanted authorities to find you holding it.”
Before I could respond, she continued:
“And if investigators believe that suitcase is the worst thing Daniel has done, they haven’t found the right account yet.”
The call ended.
I stared at my phone until the screen turned dark.
For the first time since Daniel’s arrest, I understood something even worse than betrayal.
My husband had not panicked at the airport.
He had been following a plan.
And I had been part of it.
I didn’t sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Daniel standing near the TSA checkpoint, his hand wrapped around the handle of that black suitcase.
Pick up the suitcase.
At the time, I had heard frustration in his voice.
Now I heard calculation.
At 6:15 the following morning, I called Agent Shaw.
“Marissa contacted me.”
There was a brief silence.
“What did she say?”
I repeated the conversation.
Shaw told me not to delete anything and said she and Ortega would meet me at the hotel.
They arrived forty minutes later.
This time, neither agent treated me like a potential accomplice.
They treated me like someone who might need protection.
Shaw placed a legal pad on the small desk beside the window.
“Tell us everything you know about your finances.”
“Our finances?”
“Accounts. Property. Investments. Insurance.”
I began listing them.
Joint checking account. Savings. Mortgage.
Retirement accounts.
Daniel’s consulting company.
Then I remembered something.
“There’s an investment account.”
Ortega looked up.
“What investment account?”
“Daniel opened it around four years ago. He said it was mostly index funds. I don’t manage it.”
