Chapter 4 - THE NIGHT I LET THE CAMERAS STAY ON
I moved Theo out of the house the next morning.
Temporarily.
Dad had a furnished condo twenty minutes away.
Theo thought we were having a sleepover with Grandpa.
That was enough.
I did not tell him about adultery.
Lawyers.
Custody.
Loans.
Adults had already made him carry too much.
Naomi filed what needed to be filed.
Nothing dramatic.
No secret disappearance.
No weaponized child.
I gave Solomon written notice of where Theo was staying and arranged communication through counsel.
Then Dad began the lawful process required to end Solomon’s permission to live in the house.
Not an instant eviction.
Process.
For once, I loved process.
It gave everyone fewer opportunities to rewrite events.
Solomon sent twenty-seven messages.
Then apologies.
Then anger.
Then nostalgia.
Remember our wedding?
Remember Theo’s first steps?
Remember who I was before you decided I was a monster?
That one almost worked.
Because I did remember.
That was the problem.
People who betray you are rarely monsters twenty-four hours a day.
Solomon made pancakes.
Held my hand during labor.
Stayed beside my mother’s hospital bed.
Danced with Theo in the kitchen.
And still did this.
Both could be true.
Then Naomi called.
“Do you want to know whether Jennifer still plans to come tomorrow?”
My pulse changed.
“How?”
“Her message is in one of your photographs.”
Right.
Are we still good for tomorrow?
Solomon’s phone had shown it.
The planned visit was that afternoon.
I had forgotten.
“What do we do?”
“Nothing illegal.”
Good.
Dad remained legal owner of the property.
I remained an authorized resident with smart-home access.
After consulting counsel, we restored the security system to normal operation and changed no settings that would improperly record private interior spaces.
Exterior cameras only.
Driveway.
Doors.
No bedroom.
No trap.
Just cameras functioning as designed.
At 1:07 p.m., Charlotte arrived.
I stared at the feed from Dad’s condo.
Why was she there after everything?
She walked to the side entrance.
Tried her code.
Denied.
Dad had revoked it.
She called Solomon.
Minutes later, he opened the door.
At 1:16, Jennifer arrived.
Sunglasses.
Large tote bag.
Not exactly secretive.
Then a fourth car.
Black sedan.
A man stepped out.
Peter Landon.
Solomon’s family lawyer.
The same lawyer connected to the transition plan.
My skin went cold.
This was not a romantic afternoon.
They were meeting.
At 1:25, Solomon went to the smart-home panel.
The exterior feed remained active because Dad had updated the administrator settings and removed Solomon’s ability to disable the system.
Solomon pressed buttons.
Again.
Again.
Then looked directly into the hallway camera’s field near the front entry before apparently remembering that interior camera had been disabled years ago.
He called someone.
Charlotte became agitated.
Jennifer walked outside and checked the driveway camera herself.
Then Peter Landon left.
Only twelve minutes after arriving.
Naomi later obtained nothing from that meeting directly.
We did not know what was said.
But the timing mattered.
Then Jennifer called me.
For the first time.
I answered with Naomi present.
“Elise.”
“Yes.”
“This has gone too far.”
I nearly laughed.
“Which part?”
“Solomon says you’re trying to destroy his career.”
“No.”
“You sent Harold after the financing.”
“My father refused to let his house become collateral.”
Jennifer exhaled sharply.
“He promised the property would transfer.”
“To who?”
Silence.
“You and Solomon?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Then explain.”
Jennifer said the agency buy-in was real.
Whitmore & Lane’s founder planned retirement.
Solomon and Jennifer had an opportunity to acquire a controlling stake.
They needed financing.
Solomon promised he could contribute through family real estate.
Jennifer believed Dad had agreed.
“Did you ever speak to my father?”
“No.”
“Then you believed my husband because it benefited you.”
Silence.
Fair.
Then:
“Did you know he was preparing custody papers?”
She hesitated.
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
“Did you know your name was in them?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Two months.”
There.
“Why would you agree to become a caregiver to my son?”
Jennifer’s voice became small.
“Solomon said you were going to move away.”
“Where?”
“Seattle.”
I had never planned to move.
He told Jennifer I had accepted a job there.
Fake.
“He said Theo wanted to stay with him.”
Theo had never said that to me.
Then Jennifer whispered:
“He showed me recordings.”
My stomach tightened.
“What recordings?”
Audio clips.
Supposedly me yelling that I regretted becoming a mother.
I had never said that.
Jennifer sent one.
I listened.
My voice.
Sort of.
Fragments.
From arguments.
Spliced together.
“I can’t do this… Theo… I regret… everything.”
My hands went cold.
Solomon had not only been lying about me.
He had been manufacturing a version of me.
Then Jennifer said:
“Elise, there’s something else.”
“What?”
“The recordings weren’t made for me.”
“Who were they made for?”
She paused.
“Charlotte.”
I looked at Naomi.
Jennifer continued.
“Solomon told his mother he needed proof you were unstable.”
May you like
Then:
“And Charlotte said she could make the caregiving records match.”
