“I paid the lease.”
“Take it.”
His confidence returned instantly.
By noon, the house looked deserted.
No couch.
No television.
No bed.
Even the costly espresso machine was gone.
Daniel stood in the empty living room and slipped off his wedding ring.
“You’ll hear from my lawyer.”
“I’m sure I will.”
Margaret stepped close enough that I smelled her perfume.
“You came into this marriage with nothing important.”
That was almost impressive.
Because everything that mattered was what they left behind.
I watched the moving truck vanish around the corner.
Then I locked up, went to my empty office, opened my laptop, and clicked a folder created ninety-three days earlier.
I named it simply.
MERCER EXIT PLAN.
It held bank records, property filings, photos, serial numbers, signed agreements, and messages Daniel and Margaret thought I had never seen.
At 1:07 p.m., I made one phone call.
“They’ve taken
