“We need to talk,” he said. His voice had a tight edge.
“Is he really gone?” Dylan asked. “Golf. He won’t be back until five?”
Sophia glanced around the kitchen, the way I’d seen her do before when she was about to say something she didn’t want overheard. A habit I now recognized.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I think Dad’s suspicious,” Dylan said. “James. Don’t be paranoid,” she replied.
“Mom, I’m serious,” he said. “He asked me about Margaret last week. Out of nowhere. ‘How did you meet your friend Margaret? It was so sad what happened to her.’ Why would he ask that unless someone told him something?”
My blood ran cold. I’d asked that question, thinking I was being subtle, trying to watch his reaction, see if he slipped. I’d tipped my hand.
Sophia was quiet for a long moment.
“When’s the last time he took his vitamins in front of you?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Dylan said. “I don’t watch him take pills.”
“I do,” she said. “And he’s been lying. The bottle’s barely gone down in two weeks.”
“Mom, if he knows—”
“He doesn’t know,” she said sharply. “He suspects. There’s a difference.”
Her voice turned calculating.
“But we need to move up the timeline,” she added.
“To when?” Dylan asked.
“The Seattle trip,” Sophia said. “It’s perfect. He visits Emma, we have our alibis, Victor does the job while the house is empty.”
“That’s not for three weeks,” Dylan protested.
“Then we wait three weeks,” she said. “Rushing is how people get caught, Dylan. Trust me.”
Sam and I exchanged a look in the van. We had it now—conspiracy, clear intent. But Sam held up a finger, eyes locked on the screen.
On-screen, Dylan paced the kitchen.
“What if he doesn’t go to Seattle?” he asked. “What if he cancels?”
“He won’t,” Sophia said. “Emma’s been begging him to visit, and I’ve been encouraging it. ‘You should spend time with your daughter, honey. I’ll be fine here.’”
Her imitation of her own supportive-wife tone was flawless.
“He’ll go,” she said. “And Victor’s ready. Victor’s always ready. Two hundred thousand dollars ready.”
Dylan laughed, but the sound came out thin.
“And after,” he said, “we split the insurance, the estate, everything.”
There was a pause. Too long.
“Of course,” Sophia said.
Something in her tone made Dylan’s smile fade.
“Mom?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said. “Yes, we split everything.”
“Another pause,” Sam murmured.
“You should go,” Sophia said. “He might come home early.”
“Yeah, okay,” Dylan said.
He headed for the door, then stopped.
“Mom, this is the last one,” he said. “Right? After this, we’re set for life. You’ll never have to work again.”
“After this, we’re done,” she said. “We just have to be patient a little longer.”
Dylan left. On camera, Sophia stood alone in the kitchen, staring at nothing. Then she took out her phone and walked out to the back patio.
“She’s calling someone,” Sam said. “Want to bet it’s not Dylan?”
That night, Sam’s phone-tracking software showed Sophia’s location at a bar in Renton. Security camera footage he pulled later showed her meeting Victor Ramirez in a corner booth. They talked for forty minutes. We couldn’t get audio, but the body language said everything—business, not pleasure.
When Sophia came home at 10:00 p.m., I was in bed pretending to sleep. She stood in the doorway for a long time, just watching me.
I kept my breathing slow and even.
“Sleep well, James,” she whispered. “Not much longer now.”
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