Chapter 2 - The Discharge and the SetupFour days later, Dr. Harrison stood at the foot of Sarah’s hospital bed, looking skeptical as she signed her discharge papers.
"Mrs. Vance, I strongly advise against you going back to an empty home alone," the surgeon said, tapping his clipboard. "You need monitored rest, specialized post-op nutrition, and zero stress for at least another three weeks."
"I won't be alone, Doctor," Sarah said smoothly, managing a weak, convincing smile. "My sister has arranged everything at her place. I'll be resting comfortably."
It was a lie, but a necessary one. Her sister, Helen, lived two towns over and was fully briefed on the operation unfolding. But Sarah had no intention of going to Helen's house just yet.
When Victor’s discharge nurse wheeled him out of the west wing later that afternoon, looking pale, slightly bloated, but triumphant with his new kidney functioning at peak capacity, Sarah was nowhere to be seen. He had called her phone twice from his hospital room, leaving smooth, reassuring voicemails about how much he missed her and how eager he was to get back to their sanctuary in Brookline to recover together.
Liar, Sarah thought, listening to the recording while sitting in the passenger seat of Daniel’s parked sedan down the block from the medical center. Every word is calculated to keep me docile until the property transfer clears public registry.
She waited until Victor’s private medical transport van pulled away from the curb, heading toward Brookline. Then she turned to Daniel, who was driving.
"To the house," she instructed quietly.
"Sarah, are you sure about this? If he catches you there—"
"He won't catch me," Sarah interrupted, her eyes fixed forward. "He’s moving slowly, taking pain meds, and expecting to find an empty, quiet house where he can call Rita and celebrate his double victory. He doesn't know the smart home security system was registered under my personal maiden-name email address."
When they arrived at the grand, ivy-draped colonial home in Brookline thirty minutes later, the driveway was empty. Victor’s car was still at the hospital parking garage, scheduled to be brought home by a courier the next day.
Sarah unlocked the front door with her physical master key—the one Victor didn't know she had duplicated in secret three days ago.
Stepping inside felt like walking through the ghost of a life she used to cherish. The high ceilings, the mahogany staircase, the framed photographs of family vacations—all of it now felt like a stage set constructed to hide a betrayal.
Moving with slow, calculated steps so as not to strain her stitches, Sarah bypassed the main living areas and headed straight for Victor’s private study on the second floor.
It was his command center. On his mahogany desk sat his laptop, a stack of real estate filings, and a leather-bound notebook.
May you like
Sarah sat down in his leather executive chair, opened his laptop—using his birthday, which he hadn't changed in a decade, to bypass the screen lock—and plugged a small encrypted flash drive into the USB port.
"Let's see what else you've been hiding, Victor," she whispered to the empty room.
