Emma
For three years, Derek taught me that paperwork mattered.
Bank statements mattered when he wanted to know why I’d spent twelve dollars without asking.
Receipts mattered when he accused me of wasting his money.
Phone records mattered when he wanted to know who I’d called.
Passwords mattered because privacy, according to my husband, was something only guilty people needed.
I’d hated every second of it.
Funny how the same obsession he’d used to control me had taught me exactly how to fight him.
“Marisol’s entire file is gone?” Jake asked.
Sophia nodded, reading the message again. “Office door wasn’t forced. Whoever went in knew the alarm code. Emma’s physical folder is missing, and the encrypted drive containing the scanned exhibits was taken.”
Nash swore.
Jake paced once acro
