My wife did not spend the whole night at home, and in the morning I left her a letter — when her friend contacted me, the color drained from her face

At six thirty-two in the morning, my wife’s friend’s message froze me so completely that the handle of the suitcase slipped from my hand.

“Griffin, is Angela with you? She disappeared from the club several hours ago…”

Only the monotonous hum of the refrigerator could be heard in the kitchen. Beside the coffee machine lay my letter, exactly where Angela was certain to see it in the morning.

“I’m leaving. Good luck with your freedom.

Griffin”.

I looked at the letter and thought for the first time that perhaps I had written it too early. Or too late.

I called Selena. She answered on the third ring. There was such fear in her voice as a person hides only when she herself may also be in danger.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“Behind the club, by the service entrance. I’m waiting for the police.”

“What happened?”

“Angela was with me. Then someone called her. She told me there had been an accident at your warehouse and that she had to leave urgently.”

“Why didn’t she call me?”

Selena was silent for several seconds.

“Because the call came from your number.”

I gripped the phone more tightly. No one had called from my number during the night. But perhaps Angela’s phone had shown something else.

“Where did she go?”

“She got into a private car. The driver was wearing a black hat. I couldn’t remember the license plate.”

“Why didn’t you follow her?”

“She told me she would return in ten minutes. Griffin, she didn’t look frightened. Just… as if she trusted someone.”

I went to the window. The yard was wet from the night rain, and a small golden glittering mark from Angela’s shoe remained on the stairs. It belonged to that black dress. I touched it with my finger. It was cold.

“What did you tell the police?” I asked.

“Nothing yet, until you come. I found photographs of your company’s documents in Angela’s bag.”

A heaviness sank into my stomach.

“Which documents?”

“The warehouse ownership documents and the bank transfers.”

At that moment the doorbell rang.

I should already have left the house. The suitcase stood by the door; inside it were a laptop, clothes, and a leather folder in which I kept the founding papers of our company. But someone was standing behind the door.

“Griffin, it’s me,” a strange male voice sounded. “You must open the door.”

“Who are you?”

“Detective Rowan. It’s about Angela’s case.”

I called Selena. She answered quickly.

“Has the police already arrived?” I asked.

“No, Griffin. Not yet.”

There was another knock at the door, this time harder.

“Griffin, if you don’t open the door, I’ll be forced to come in.”

At that same moment, a new message appeared on my phone. There was only one sentence from an unknown number:

“Don’t trust that man. Angela is still alive.”

I stood silently in the hallway. The man behind the door lowered the handle, while my hand slowly moved toward the leather folder…

I slid the leather folder under the bed and only then opened the door.

A man of about fifty stood on the threshold. He wore a dark coat, but I could not see a police badge. In his left hand he held a small metal flashlight, whose surface glittered with raindrops.

“Detective Rowan?” I asked.

“Yes. Where is your wife?”

“You tell me.”

His gaze darted behind me, toward the living room.

“Selena Hart stated that Angela returned to you.”

“I spoke to Selena. She didn’t say that.”

The man pressed his lips together.

“Mrs. Hart is being questioned now. You must come too.”

“Then issue me an official summons.”

Irritation flashed across his face.

“Don’t complicate the situation, Mr. Chandler.”

At the sound of that surname, a chill ran down my back. In the documents, Angela was still listed under her old surname. But the detective knew exactly that in the company’s legal papers I was Chandler, although that name was hardly used in everyday life.

“Where did you see Angela?” I asked.

“At the Ashford Hotel.”

“Is she alive?”

The man did not answer.

That was the answer.

I closed the door and left through the back exit. Rain struck my face, while the sound of my shoes on the wet concrete rang far too loudly. Selena was waiting at the street corner, holding one of Angela’s silver earrings.

“I found this by the hotel stairs,” she told me. “But I didn’t see a police officer there.”

“That man said she had been seen there.”

Selena closed her umbrella.

“Griffin, Angela had been investigating something for the last two weeks.”

“What?”

“Money was disappearing from your business.”

I laughed, but the laugh came out painful and empty.

“I check the accounts every day.”

“Not all the accounts. Specifically, the accounts controlled by Marcus Vale.”

Marcus was our financial manager. Eight years ago, when the warehouse was only one small building and three trucks, he worked with me. I knew his habits, his family matters, his favorite coffee. I knew everything except what he was doing behind my back.

“Did Angela tell you this?” I asked.

“She didn’t dare. She told me you would no longer believe her.”

“Why?”

Selena placed the earring in her palm.

“Because Marcus told her that if she revealed the truth, you would be arrested.”

At that moment my phone rang. Angela’s name appeared on the screen.

“Answer it,” Selena told me.

“What if it isn’t her?”

“Then at least we’ll find out who we’re dealing with.”

I answered the call. For several seconds, only breathing could be heard.

“Angela?” I said.

In response, a woman’s quiet, broken voice sounded.

“Griffin, you shouldn’t have written the letter.”

“Where are you?”

“I don’t know. I’m in a room. The window won’t open.”

“Who is there with you?”

“Marcus isn’t here, but his men know that you left.”

Selena leaned toward me and quietly told me to put the phone on speaker.

“Angela, listen to me,” I said. “Do you have your phone with you?”

“No. This is an old device. Someone left it for me.”

“Where did you find it?”

The creak of a door sounded on the other side.

Angela barely exhaled.

“Griffin, if you still have the blue glass seal in that folder, don’t give it to anyone. Inside it is what will connect Marcus to everything.”

Selena lowered her eyes.

“What seal?” I asked.

“Our company’s old seal. Marcus thinks he destroyed it.”

There was a heavy blow against the door.

“Griffin,” Angela whispered, “if someone came to your house this morning, that means they already know you left the letter. Now they are going to your warehouse…”

“Now they are going to your warehouse…”

The call ended.

Selena immediately called the police, while I ran toward the car. It was seven in the morning. The streets still looked empty, but to me the city had suddenly become a trap. I searched for Marcus’s face in every car window.

When I reached the warehouse gate, the guard booth was empty. The lock was broken, and the red light of the camera was no longer blinking.

“Don’t go in there,” Selena told me.

“It’s my warehouse.”

“That’s exactly why they’re waiting for you.”

I went inside. Papers lay scattered on the floor, the document cabinet was open, and one word was blinking on the computer monitor: Transfer completed.

A new message came to my phone. From the bank. Four hundred and fifty thousand lari had been transferred from the company’s main account to a foreign account.

“This is impossible,” I said.

“Someone is using your electronic signature,” Selena replied.

Then I heard a light tapping behind the wall.

“Angela?” I shouted.

In response came only a weak exhalation.

In the back room of the warehouse stood an old metal cabinet. Its door was half open. Angela was sitting inside, her hands bound, and a streak of dried blood visible on her cheek.

“Griffin…” she barely said.

I knelt before her. Small cuts were visible on her fingers.

“Who did this?”

“First untie my hands.”

Selena took out a knife and cut the rope.

“Where were you?” I asked.

Angela lowered her eyes.

“At the Ashford Hotel. Marcus summoned me. He told me he had documents that would be used against you.”

“You met him?”

“Yes.”

“At one in the morning?”

“Because I was trying to save you.”

Her answer struck my heart, but anger was still burning in me.

“Why didn’t you tell me anything?”

“Because Marcus showed me a fake message recorded in your voice. In it, you told him that you were stealing the company’s money. I knew it was edited, but I could not prove it.”

“They called you from my number.”

“Marcus falsified the number. He had your old phone, the one you left in the warehouse several months ago.”

Selena took a small voice recorder from her bag.

“This is what I stole from the hotel,” she said. “Angela managed to record it before they caught her.”

Marcus’s voice came from the recorder.

“If Griffin leaves, the company will remain in my hands. Angela, you only have to sign. Otherwise I’ll send both of you to prison.”

Then my own voice sounded too, but strangely flat and cut up.

“I did nothing wrong.”

Marcus created a fake conversation with this recording and made me look guilty to the bank.

Angela looked into my eyes.

“I didn’t want to run away from you, Griffin. When I read your letter, I realized I had already lost you.”

I took her hand. For the first time since that night, my anger fell apart.

But at that very moment Selena’s phone rang. She listened, her face changed, and she turned toward me.

“The bank stopped the transfer, but Marcus has already presented a second document. It says that you handed the company over to him yourself.”

“What document?”

Selena showed me the screen.

It looked like my signature. Almost exactly.

“This is only the beginning,” Angela said. “Marcus has another witness against us. And that witness is going to the police now…”