The phone opened.
My blood ran cold.
There were photographs of legal documents.
Power-of-attorney forms.
Bank transfers.
Passport copies.
Messages with someone named Naomi Vance.
I opened the conversation.
Naomi: “You promised me she wouldn’t survive the honeymoon.”
Lucas: “Relax. You’re next after the money clears.”
My stomach turned.
There were dozens of women.
Names.
Photographs.
Bank balances.
Property records.
Marriage certificates.
Death certificates.
They weren’t just planning to kill me.
They had done this before.
