IN LOVE WITH MY BROTHER'S WIFE

EPISODE 1

"They found the boat drifting empty."

Sheriff Ford’s voice was low and rough, like gravel crunching under a heavy boot. He stood in the open doorway of the big house. Rain dripped from the brim of his hat, making small puddles on the hardwood floor.

I stood very still. My hands were deep in my pockets, clenched into tight fists. I looked at the Sheriff, and then I looked at Sarah.

Sarah sat on the beige sofa. She looked perfect, as she always did. Her brown hair was pulled back in a clip. She was wearing a simple grey sweater. When the Sheriff spoke, she didn't scream. She didn't cry. She just stopped breathing for a few seconds. Her face went as pale as the moon. She reached down and twisted her wedding ring. Round and round.

"Empty?" I asked. My voice sounded rusty. I hadn't spoken in hours. "What about the dive gear?"

"Gone," Sheriff Ford said. He looked at me, his eyes tired and lined with wrinkles. "The compressor was still running. The air line was deployed. But there was no one at the other end, Jack. Just the deep water."

I felt a cold shiver go down my spine. It wasn't from the wind blowing through the open door. It was the old fear. The fear of the black water.

"Danny is a master diver," I said. "He doesn't make mistakes. He was the state champion. He knows the currents."

"Maybe the ocean made the mistake for him," the Sheriff said softly. He took off his hat and held it against his chest. "I’m sorry, Sarah. We have the Coast Guard out. But with this storm coming... the window is closing."

Sarah finally moved. She stood up. She was shaking, just a tiny bit. You had to know her to see it. I knew her. I knew every inch of her face. I knew the way she bit her lip when she was thinking. I knew how she took her coffee (two sugars, no cream). I knew her better than my brother did, even though she was his wife.

"Find him," Sarah whispered. Her voice was steel wrapped in soft cotton. "Don't tell me about windows closing, Ford. Just find him."

"We will do our best, Ma'am," the Sheriff said. He turned to leave. "Jack, walk me to the car?"

I nodded. I stepped out into the cold rain. The wind hit me like a slap. This was Blackwater Bay. The weather here hated you. It wanted to knock you down.

Outside, the Sheriff leaned against his cruiser. The red and blue lights flashed against the wet pavement, painting the driveway in strange colors.

"Listen to me, son," Ford said, lowering his voice. "This doesn't look right."

"What do you mean?"

"The boat wasn't just drifting," Ford said. He looked around the dark yard to make sure no one was listening. "The transponder was smashed. Someone didn't want that boat to be tracked. And the dive flag wasn't up. Danny follows the rules. He always puts the flag up."

"You think someone was with him?" I asked. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

"I think you should lock the doors tonight," Ford said. He climbed into his car. "Keep her safe, Jack."

I watched him drive away. The red taillights faded into the fog.

Keep her safe.

That was the only thing I had ever wanted to do. But I was the wrong brother. I was the one who stayed on the dock. Danny was the one who jumped in. Danny was the hero. I was just Jack. The quiet one. The mechanic. The backup plan.

I went back inside. The house felt too big now. It was full of shadows.

Sarah was standing by the big window, looking out at the dark sea. The reflection of the room made her look like a ghost in the glass.

"He's not dead," she said. She didn't turn around.

"Sarah..."

"Don't," she snapped. She turned to face me. Her eyes were fierce. "Don't give me the pity speech, Jack. I know you. You're practical. You're already calculating the odds. Stop it."

"I'm not calculating anything," I lied. "I'm just..."

"You're just what?"

"I'm worried about you."

She softened. Her shoulders dropped. She took a step toward me. For a second, just one second, the air between us felt electric. It was a pull, like the tide. I wanted to step forward. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and tell her that I was here. That I had always been here.

But she was Danny’s wife.

"I need to go to the shop," I said, stepping back. "I need to check the equipment logs. If Danny took the Sea Witch, he would have logged the tank pressures."

She looked at me, confused. "Now? In this storm?"

"If something went wrong with the gear, the logs will tell me," I said. "I have to know."

"Take the truck," she said quietly. "Be careful."

The salvage yard was a graveyard of rusted metal. Old cranes loomed like skeletons in the dark. The smell was strong here—diesel fuel, rotting seaweed, and wet iron. It was the smell of my childhood.

I unlocked the main office of Blackwater Salvage. The fluorescent lights flickered on with a loud hum.

This was our family business. We pulled up things that people lost. Sometimes it was scrap metal. Sometimes it was boat engines. Danny was the lead diver. I was the operations manager. I kept the machines running. He took the glory.

I went to the equipment lockers. Danny’s locker was Number 1. Of course it was.

I didn't have the key, but I didn't need it. I knew the trick. If you hit the top corner just right with your palm, the latch popped open. We used to sneak into each other's lockers as kids to steal candy.

I banged the metal. The door swung open.

Inside, it smelled like him. Spicy cologne and saltwater. His street clothes were hanging there. His wallet was in the pocket of his jeans.

That was Clue Number One. Danny never went on a dive without his ID. He was paranoid about Coast Guard checks. Why would he leave his wallet?

I checked the bottom of the locker. His spare dive computer was there. I picked it up. It was a heavy black watch. I pressed the button to wake it up.

The screen glowed green.

Last sync: Today, 08:00 AM.

He had synced it this morning. I scrolled through the data. He hadn't just prepped for a normal salvage. He had downloaded a specific map.

Coordinates: 44.5 North, 67.2 West.

I froze. I knew those waters. That wasn't a salvage site. That was the "Dead Zone." It was a deep trench where the currents were violent. No one dove there. There was nothing there but rocks and fast water.

Why would Danny go there?

Then I saw something else. On the floor of the locker, kicked into the corner, was a coil of yellow air hose. It was an old backup hose.

I picked it up. I ran my fingers along the rubber. About ten feet from the end, the rubber was split.

I held it up to the light.

It wasn't a tear. It wasn't a burst from pressure. The edges were smooth. Perfect.

It had been cut. With a knife.

I dropped the hose. My stomach turned over. This wasn't an accident. Someone had sabotaged the gear. Or... Danny had cut it himself?

I heard a noise behind me. A scrap of metal dragging on concrete.

I spun around, grabbing a heavy wrench from the bench.

"Who's there?" I yelled.

Nothing. Just the wind rattling the tin roof.

I walked to the back door. It was slightly open. I pushed it. The rain blew in, cold and wet. I looked down at the mud just outside the door.

There were fresh footprints. Boot prints. Heavy, steel-toed boots. They led away from the office, toward the dock.

Someone had been in here. Before me.

I went back to the locker. I felt around the edges, my heart racing. My fingers brushed against something taped to the underside of the top shelf.

I peeled it off.

It was a small, silver key. It didn't look like a house key or a car key. It looked old. And wrapped around it was a scrap of paper.

I unfolded the paper. It was Danny’s handwriting. Scrawled, messy, hurried.

Jack - If the water takes me, check the Blue Buoy.

He left this for me. Not for Sarah. For me.

My heart was thumping in my throat. Danny expected something bad to happen.

I shoved the key and the note into my pocket. I grabbed the logbook and ran out to the truck.

The drive back to the house was a nightmare. The rain was coming down in sheets. I could barely see the road.

My mind was racing. Check the Blue Buoy. There was an old navigation buoy out near the lighthouse that we used for target practice with flare guns. It was hollow.

Was he hiding something inside it?

I pulled into the driveway. The house was dark. The power must have gone out.

I ran to the front door and unlocked it.

"Sarah?" I called out.

Silence.

"Sarah!"

Panic seized me. I ran into the living room. Lightning flashed, illuminating the room in a burst of white light.

Sarah was sitting on the floor, near the fireplace. She had a flashlight beam pointed at the wall.

"I'm here," she said. Her voice was trembling. "The lights went out ten minutes ago."

I exhaled, the tension leaving my shoulders. "Are you okay?"

"No," she said. She stood up and shined the light on my face. "I'm scared, Jack. I heard something outside."

"It's just the wind," I said, though I didn't believe it. I remembered the footprints at the shop.

I walked over to her. She looked so small in the darkness. The flashlight beam shook in her hand.

"I found something," I whispered. "At the shop. Danny left a note."

"A note?" She grabbed my arm. Her fingers dug into my wet jacket. "What did it say?"

"He knew he might not come back," I said. "He left me a key."

Sarah stared at me. Her eyes were wide, dark pools. "What does it open?"

"I don't know yet."

She let out a shaky breath and leaned her forehead against my chest. It was an accident, I told myself. She was just seeking comfort. But having her this close, smelling her vanilla perfume mixed with the ozone of the storm, it made me dizzy.

I put my hand on her back. Hesitantly. Just to steady her.

"We'll figure it out," I said. "I promise."

"He was scared this morning," Sarah whispered into my coat. "Before he left. He told me he was going to fix everything. He said we wouldn't have to worry about the money anymore."

"Money?" I pulled back to look at her. "What money? The business is doing fine. We had a good year."

She looked away. A shadow crossed her face. A secret.

"Sarah, what money?"

Before she could answer, a sound cut through the room.

Brrr-ring. Brrr-ring.

It was a phone. But not the house phone. And not my phone.

The sound was coming from the hallway table. It was Danny’s spare cell phone. The one he kept for emergencies. The one he left at home.

Sarah and I stared at it. It rang again, loud and shrill in the quiet house.

Brrr-ring.

"Don't answer it," Sarah whispered.

"We have to," I said.

I walked to the table. The screen was glowing bright in the dark hall. The Caller ID said: UNKNOWN.

I picked it up. My hand was sweating. I pressed the green button and put it to my ear.

"Hello?"

There was static on the line. The sound of wind. And then, a voice. It was low, distorted, like someone talking through a machine.

"Did you get the gold?" the voice asked.

I froze. "Who is this?"

"The gold, Jack," the voice hissed. "Tell me you have it. Or your brother is fish food."

"Danny?" I shouted. "Is that you?"

The line clicked. Then, a dial tone.

I lowered the phone slowly. Sarah was watching me, her hands covering her mouth.

"Who was it?" she asked.

I looked at the phone, then at the woman I loved. The woman my brother had left behind in a web of lies.

"Someone who thinks Danny is alive," I said. "And they think we have something they want."