Through the pixelated feed, I watched the precise instant his soul left his body.

He dropped the suitcase. The blood drained from his tanned face so fast he swayed.

He snatched up the photocopy with shaking hands. “No — no, no, no. What is this? How did she get into the lockbox?” he shrieked at the empty walls.

Bianca crossed her arms. “Mark? What’s going on? Where’s your pathetic wife?”

He ignored her, tearing through the house, ripping open drawers, flinging Vivian’s few belongings across the floor, hunting for the original passbook and the insurance papers.

An hour later, soaked in sweat, he collapsed to his knees in the wrecked living room.