My Neighbor Heard a Woman Screaming in My Empty House—Then I Hid Under My Bed and Heard My “Dead” Husband’s Voice

PART 4

Someone had been watching me for months.

Then the officer opened one folder.

GUARDIANSHIP.

Inside was a document.

My name.

My address.

And a petition for emergency guardianship.

The proposed guardian was Natalie.

I stared at it.

“But why would my sister want guardianship over me?”

The officer looked at the document.

“Money.”

I shook my head.

“I don’t have enough money for this.”

He looked at me.

“You might.”

He opened another file.

My husband’s life insurance policy.

Then another.

His business ownership documents.

Then another.

A trust.

I stared at the screen.

“What is that?”

The officer read the document.

“Beneficiary designation.”

My name was crossed out.

Natalie’s name was listed instead.

I felt dizzy.

“But Derek’s life insurance paid me.”

“Some of it.”

He scrolled.

“There was another policy.”

My heart stopped.

“How much?”

He looked at me.

“Four million dollars.”

I couldn’t breathe.

I had never known about it.

The policy had been purchased eighteen months before the crash.

And the beneficiary wasn’t me.

It was a trust controlled by Natalie.

Suddenly everything made sense.

Derek hadn’t died accidentally.

He had staged his death.

He had created a false identity.

He had arranged for the insurance payout.

Then he had spent the next two years convincing everyone—including me—that I was mentally deteriorating.

But there was still one question.

Why had he needed me declared mentally incompetent?

The officer opened another file.

It was a property document.

My house.

The deed had been transferred into my name after my father’s death.

I had inherited it years before marrying Derek.

I had almost forgotten.

It was worth nearly three million dollars.

And if I were declared mentally incompetent, a court-appointed guardian could potentially control the property.

Natalie would be in position to manage it.

Derek would eventually get access to the money through the trust.

I stared at the screen.

“They were trying to steal my house.”

The officer nodded.

“Looks that way.”

But then he found something else.

A photograph.

It showed Derek standing beside a man I didn’t recognize.

The photograph was taken two months after his supposed death.

Derek was smiling.

Alive.

Standing beside a new black SUV.

I stared at the photograph.

Then I noticed the background.

A sign.

Silver Pine Recovery Center.

The officer searched the location.

It was a private rehabilitation facility in Colorado.

But when they checked the records, there was no patient named Derek Morgan.

Then the second officer zoomed in.

“Wait.”

“What?”

He pointed at the photograph.

Derek’s wrist.

He was wearing the same silver watch I had used to identify his remains.

My stomach dropped.

The watch hadn’t been in the crash.

He had been wearing it after his supposed death.

I whispered,

“He never died.”

The officer looked at me.

“No.”

“He faked it.”

“Yes.”

“But why?”

Before he could answer, my phone rang.

Unknown number.

I stared at it.

The officers immediately motioned for me to answer.

I pressed the button.

“Hello?”

Silence.

Then a familiar voice.

“Claire.”

My heart stopped.

“Derek?”

He laughed softly.

“Yes.”

I couldn’t speak.

“You shouldn’t have gone looking.”

I felt ice spreading through my body.

“You’re alive.”

“Obviously.”

“You killed people?”

“No.”

“You tried to make me look insane.”

“I tried to protect what was mine.”

“Your house?”

“Our money.”

I closed my eyes.

“You’re a monster.”

He laughed.

“You always were dramatic.”

“Where are you?”

“Somewhere you won’t find me.”

“You’re going to prison.”

“Not if you cooperate.”

I tightened my grip on the phone.

“What do you want?”

“The blue folder.”

My blood ran cold.

“The one Natalie couldn’t find.”

“Where is it?”

“You’re going to tell me.”

“No.”

“Then Natalie goes to prison.”

I froze.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I don’t need to do anything.”

His voice became colder.

“She already has fingerprints all over your house.”

I looked at the officers.

He continued.

“Your sister has been inside your home more times than you know.”

“Why did you use her?”

“Because family is believable.”

I swallowed.

“You’re sick.”

“No, Claire.”

He laughed.

“I’m careful.”

Then the line went dead.

The officer immediately began tracing the call.

But there was another message.

A text appeared on my screen.

Check the attic. Behind the Christmas decorations.

I looked at the officers.

One of them shook his head.

“Don’t go alone.”

We went upstairs.

The attic was dark.

The officer moved the boxes carefully.

Behind a stack of Christmas decorations, we found a blue leather folder.

My hands trembled as I opened it.

Inside were documents I had never seen.

And one letter.

It was addressed to me.

Claire,

If you’re reading this, something has gone wrong.

I stopped breathing.

The handwriting was Derek’s.

But the letter was dated three years before his supposed death.

I continued reading.

There are things about my business you don’t know. I made mistakes. Serious ones. People are looking for me. I created a plan to disappear.

I looked at the officer.

He gestured for me to continue.

But I need you to understand one thing. If I disappear, you must never trust Natalie.

My hands started shaking.

She knows more than she admits.

I stared at the page.

The officer leaned closer.

“What does it say?”

I kept reading.

She helped me hide money. She helped me create accounts. She knows about the insurance policy. But she doesn’t know the whole plan.

My eyes filled with tears.

Then I reached the final paragraph.

If I die, the blue folder will expose everything.

I looked at the officer.

“What does everything mean?”

He took the folder.

“We’ll find out.”

And we did.

The blue folder contained evidence of financial fraud.

Millions of dollars had been moved through shell companies.

Derek had been involved in a massive insurance fraud scheme.

But there was something even worse.

Several business partners had disappeared.

Not officially connected to him.

But the financial records suggested he had paid them to disappear.

And the last document in the folder was a list of names.

At the bottom was mine.

Next to it were three words.

Final phase — guardianship.

I stared at it.

The officer’s face hardened.

“He planned to have you declared incompetent.”

“And then?”

“Control your assets.”

I felt sick.

“What happens now?”

“We find him.”

That night, I didn’t sleep.

I stayed in a hotel under police protection.

At 4:17 in the morning, my phone rang.

It was Natalie.

I answered.

She was crying.

THE NEXT PART 5 👇