Chapter 9: The Burner Phone
Emma knew going to the police was a gamble. Isabella had unlimited resources, high-ranking politicians in her pocket, and an army of lawyers. If Emma walked into a precinct with a stolen catering van and a kidnapped child, Isabella’s team would spin it in seconds. The deranged housekeeper kidnapped the boy. They would be locked up, and William would be dead before dawn.
They needed hard, undeniable proof.
Emma pulled the silver master key fob from her pocket. Attached to it was a small, encrypted thumb drive—something she hadn't noticed in the dark of Isabella's bedroom. Isabella had kept it hidden right next to the burner phone and the Swiss flight itinerary.
Emma booted up her old, sluggish laptop. She plugged in the drive. A password prompt immediately popped up on the screen.
"Damn it," Emma cursed under her breath.
Ethan crept over, dragging the quilt behind him. He stared at the screen. "Is that Isabella's?"
"Yes. It's locked. I don't know the password."
Ethan frowned, thinking hard. "She used to type on a black laptop in the library when my dad was asleep. She always typed the same thing. I watched her fingers from the balcony."
"What was it, Ethan? Do you remember?"
Ethan closed his eyes, mimicking typing on an invisible keyboard in the air. "V... O... L... K... O... V... 7... 7."
Volkov77. Her real name.
Emma typed it in and hit enter. The drive unlocked.
Dozens of folders populated the screen. Emma clicked through them, her horror growing with each file. It was a masterclass in manipulation. There were forged psychiatric evaluations declaring William mentally unfit, offshore bank account routing numbers, and deeply buried medical files showing Isabella's purchase of high-grade, untraceable neurotoxins.
But the most damning folder was labeled Phase Three.
Emma clicked it. It contained a scheduled draft of an email, set to be sent to William's lawyers at 6:00 AM tomorrow. It was a suicide note, typed in William's voice, expressing overwhelming grief over his "missing" son and leaving everything to his beloved wife.
"She's doing it tonight," Emma whispered, looking at the clock on her microwave. It was 3:15 AM.
William was back at the estate, alone in the master suite with a woman who had a syringe of neurotoxin and a fake suicide note ready to go.
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"Emma?" Ethan asked, seeing the color drain from her face. "What are we going to do?"
Emma grabbed her coat and her phone. "We are going to crash the end of the party."
