Chapter 8: What Was in the Study
On the sixth day, Brenda made a mistake.
She left the study unlocked.
It was a small thing.
A moment of carelessness after a long phone call that had clearly not gone the way she wanted.
I heard her voice through the study door — sharp, controlled, then suddenly quiet — and then she came out into the corridor and walked past me toward the kitchen without looking up.
The study door swung gently behind her.
It didn't catch.
I waited three minutes.
Then I walked to the end of the corridor and pushed the door open.
The room was organized the way Brenda organized everything — with a precision that looked effortless but wasn't.
Files on the left side of the desk, labeled in a small, neat hand.
A leather-bound planner.
A laptop, closed.
A locked drawer on the right side that I already knew I couldn't open without a key.
But the files were not locked.
I moved quickly.
The first two folders were household accounts.
Utility bills.
A contractor's invoice for work done on the east wing.
The third folder had no label.
I opened it.
Inside were profiles.
Four of them.
Printed pages, each one clipped together.
Name, age, occupation, family background, estimated net worth, property holdings, notable connections.
The first profile was Miriam's.
The second was Carol's.
The third was a woman I didn't recognize.
A name I hadn't heard before.
Sophie Aldren.
A note in Brenda's handwriting at the bottom of the page: *Withdrew — father intervened.*
The fourth profile was mine.
I stood very still and read it.
It was thorough.
My parents' names.
Their address.
My father's business — a mid-sized engineering consultancy he had built over thirty years.
Estimated value.
Client list.
Two government contracts noted specifically, underlined.
And at the bottom, in Brenda's handwriting: *Primary target: Whitmore Engineering contracts.
Secondary: family trust.
Timeline: 18–24 months post-marriage.*
I took my phone from my pocket and photographed every page.
Then I put the folder back exactly as I had found it.
I was almost at the door when I heard Brenda's voice behind me.
"I forgot my planner."
I turned around.
She was standing in the doorway.
Looking at me.
I looked back.
"I was looking for Derek," I said.
"I thought he might be in here."
Brenda walked to the desk.
Picked up the planner.
Did not open it.
"He's in the garden," she said.
"Thank you," I said.
I walked past her.
She didn't stop me.
But at the end of the corridor I heard the study door close, and then the distinct sound of the lock turning.
I kept walking.
My phone was warm in my pocket.
The photographs were already uploading to a cloud account Derek didn't know existed.
That evening I sent Patricia a message with a single attachment.
Her reply came eleven minutes later.
*This is what we needed.
Call me in the morning.
We move next week.*
I set the phone down on the nightstand.
Derek came to bed at ten.
He kissed my cheek and told me he had a good feeling about things.
"Me too," I said.
I lay in the dark and listened to his breathing slow.
I thought about Miriam.
About Carol.
About Sophie Aldren, whose father had saved her before she even knew she needed saving.
May you like
I thought about the profile in that folder with my name at the top.
Then I closed my eyes and slept better than I had in weeks.
