Chapter 6 - The Weight of a Shared Past
The screen of my phone lit up the dim interior of the storage unit, casting a harsh, cold glow over Sarah’s face. The text message hung there like a digital threat: If you value your family's safety, stop digging into my office records right now. I know where your sister parked her car.
My breath hitched. Eric wasn't just a cheat or a bigamist who had manipulated our marriage; he was watching. Or he had someone else watching for him.
Sarah stepped closer, her eyes fixed on the device in my hand. "Is that from him?"
"He knows where Megan is," I said, my voice trembling as the protective instinct for my sister—and for the unborn baby kicking softly against my ribs—overrode the shock of the double life revelation. "He's watching the parking lot."
"He's bluffing," Sarah said, though her own hands were tight around her trench coat belt. "Eric doesn't have the stomach for direct confrontation. He uses intimidation, legal maneuvers, and bank accounts to control people. But he doesn't get his hands dirty."
"He dragged me out of his car and left me on the side of a highway while I was having contractions," I reminded her bitterly. "We are past the point of guessing what Eric is capable of."
I gripped the flash drive Sarah had placed on the desk. Its small, plastic body felt impossibly heavy. If I walked out of here and gave this to Megan and my father, we would have the legal ammunition to dismantle Eric's professional life, his assets, and his freedom. But the text message meant he knew we had breached his inner sanctum. He knew we were unravelling his carefully constructed web of lies.
"We need to get out of here," Sarah said, making up her mind. "There's a side exit that leads directly to the rear service road behind the complex. It bypasses the main gate where cars pull in."
"What about Megan?" I asked, my heart hammering.
"We call her as soon as we hit the service road. Tell her to drive out and meet us two blocks away at the diner," Sarah urged, her eyes urgent. "If Eric has someone here, they're watching the front entrance where my car and your sister's car are parked. They won't be looking at the delivery loading dock."
We moved quickly, though my eight-month pregnancy made every step deliberate and heavy. Sarah led the way down a narrow concrete corridor flanked by service doors, her keys clicking rhythmically against the floor. When we pushed through the heavy metal back door, the late afternoon wind hit us, cool and sharp against my damp skin.
I pulled out my phone with shaking fingers and dialed Megan. It rang twice before she answered, her voice tight with panic.
"Claire? Where are you? A man in a gray sedan just pulled up right behind my car and asked if I needed help waiting for you."
"Get out of there, Megan," I whispered fiercely, walking as fast as I could down the asphalt ramp behind Sarah. "Start the engine right now. Meet us at the diner on Maple Street."
"Claire, what is happening?"
"Just drive," I said, hanging up before she could argue.
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As Sarah's compact car rounded the corner of the service road to pick me up, I looked down at the flash drive clutched in my hand. Eric thought a text message would scare me back into silence. He didn't realize that every threat he made only stripped away whatever remaining hesitation I had.
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