Chapter 3
1126 Words
I pulled out my phone.
I opened the banking app and pulled up the transfer history.
First of every month. Automatic transfer: 3,000 dollars. Recipient: Robert Ward.
I tapped for details. Memo: living expenses for Mom and Dad.
I tapped the recipient field again. Collected on behalf of recipient: Clara Wen.
They had been using my money to raise a child.
Five years. Sixty months. 180,000 dollars.
Not counting the holiday gift cards. Not counting everything I had mailed over the years.
Every gift had gone to that apartment.
And I had known nothing.
I had felt guilty. Guilty that I wasn't doing enough.
My stomach lurched. I made it downstairs and dry-heaved over a flower bed outside the building.
I wiped my mouth and got back in the car.
Then I called my best friend, Lydia Park. She was a lawyer.
"Shana? It's late — what's going on?"
I gave her the short version.
There was a silence on her end. Then I heard her swear under her breath.
"Don't move. I'll be on the first flight out tomorrow."
"For now — stay calm, collect evidence. Don't do anything that tips him off."
"Okay."
I hung up and drove until I found a hotel.
Whitmore was a small town. There were only two chain hotels. I picked the one farther from Ethan's family home.
I sat on the bed and started putting the evidence together.
Then I called Lydia again.
"Lydia. I need you."
"...You said... the child is three or four years old?"
"Yeah."
"So that means in the very first year of your marriage, he already —"
She didn't finish the sentence. We both understood.
I hung up and did what she had told me to do.
Screenshots, backups, everything forwarded to Lydia's email.
By the time I was done, it was past one in the morning.
Ethan hadn't reached out. Not a single message.
I stared at my screen for a long time.
Then I closed my email and opened a new document.
I started a list: marriage certificate, financial records, bigamy evidence, other victims.
By the time I finished, the sky was beginning to lighten.
My phone buzzed. A message from Lydia:
Lydia: There's a woman named Rayna Lee who went to his family's place years ago making trouble. I've shared your contact with her on w******p. Use your own judgment.
Shana: Okay.
A few minutes later, a w******p contact request popped up.
The profile photo was an ordinary-looking young woman. Username: Rayna.
I accepted. She sent a voice note almost immediately.
I tapped play. Her voice came through with a hollow, bitter edge.
"Six years ago, I thought I was his girlfriend too. Then I went to find him and met Clara."
"His parents called me a lunatic. Told me to get out."
"I filed a police report. It did nothing. The whole family had the same story."
"Do you have evidence?"
The voice note ended.
Shana: Still collecting. I need your help.
Rayna: I'll email you what I have. Stay safe.
I set the phone down.
I opened my laptop. Rayna's email was already there.
The attachments were extensive — photographs, screenshots of chat logs, transfer receipts.
I picked up the room phone and called home.
"Shana, did you meet Ethan's parents? Were they happy to see you?" My mother's voice was light and cheerful.
I took a deep breath.
"Mom. Something happened."
I told her in as few words as I could.
When I finished, there was silence on the line.
"That son of a — where is he? I'm going there right now!" My father had grabbed the phone, his voice shaking.
"Mom, Dad. Come to me. I'll wait for you."
I hung up. My phone buzzed.
Ethan had finally reached out.
Ethan: Shana, we need to talk.
I stared at those words. Then I blocked the number.
I used the hotel room phone to call a contact — someone who ran their own media channel online.
"I've got a story. You interested?"
"What kind?"
"Bigamy. Marriage fraud. Financial scam. Full evidence chain."
"Tell me more."
"I've sent you the files. I need you to document everything on camera, but nothing goes live until I say."
"Understood."
I hung up. Lydia's legal documents had come through. I printed them out.
I walked to the window and looked out at the fireworks going off in the distance.
Somebody else's celebration.
My phone started up again — an unknown number, a flood of texts coming in rapid-fire.
Pick up the phone, Shana.
We can work this out.
I'll give you whatever you want.
Don't blow this up.
...
The last one, sent ten minutes ago:
Unknown number: Shana, let's handle this privately. Tell me what you want and I'll make it happen.
A laugh escaped me. I honestly couldn't understand how he could be this naive.
My phone buzzed again. Lydia:
Lydia: The first flight tomorrow is cancelled — blizzard. I've rebooked for noon.
Shana: Okay.
I lay down. Sleep didn't come.
An old habit from years of living alone — checking the locks before bed.
I got up and crossed to the door. The security chain was in place.
I was turning back toward the bed when I heard it.
A faint click.
The hotel was on the third floor. Outside the window was an exterior ledge where an old AC unit sat.
I held my breath. I crept to the edge of the curtain and peered through the gap.
A shadow — someone using a tool to pry at the window latch.
My heart stopped.
My first instinct wasn't to scream. It was to lunge for the laptop and phone on the nightstand.
I shoved the laptop under the pillow. Phone gripped in my hand. I crossed the room barefoot and locked myself in the bathroom.
Security chain on. I sat on the edge of the toilet lid, fingers trembling, and sent Lydia my location along with a message:
Shana: Someone breaking in. Room 307, third floor.
The moment I hit send, I heard the window give.
Then footsteps.
He was going through my bag — the zip of the zipper, the clatter of things being dumped out.
A man's voice, pressed low: "Cuz, got the laptop."
My phone screen lit up.
Lydia: Already called the cops. Five minutes.
A siren rose from the street below.
I heard the figure outside slide down the drainage pipe along the outer wall.
When the police knocked, I was sitting on the bathroom floor.
The laptop was gone.
But my phone was still in the trash can where I'd buried it. The recording had been running the whole time.
Ethan Ward. Neither of us was having a happy holiday.
- Writer
