So I noticed.

I did not hack into accounts or take files from locked offices.

I saved business statements Dennis had left in our shared household records, public corporate filings, invoices he had asked me to organize, and correspondence copied to me as his spouse when I helped coordinate charitable events.

Later, I took my concerns to an attorney who explained what could be lawfully preserved and what I should leave untouched.

That attorney’s name was Elaine Mercer.

Her card lay on the motel bed beside my grandmother’s old handkerchief.

At eleven fourteen that night, I finally called her.

“Colleen,” she said after listening, “are you safe?”

“I’m somewhere he doesn’t know about.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

I looked at the suitcase, then at the cheap motel lock.

“I think so.”

“Then we start there.

Tomorrow morning, we deal with everything else.”