Chapter 4: The Woman Behind the Second Account
I stared at the photograph until my eyes began to burn.
Brianna stood in my kitchen wearing a red sweater I remembered buying her for Christmas. One hand rested on the marble island. The other held a small black device I couldn't identify.
But it was her smile that frightened me.
She wasn't smiling at the person taking the photograph.
She was smiling directly at the security camera.
The timestamp in the corner read three weeks before the assault.
I checked the email address again. It belonged to an unfamiliar account, a string of letters and numbers with no name attached. There was no signature, no phone number, and no explanation of how the sender had obtained the photograph.
I immediately called Ryan.
He answered from the airport, his voice muffled by the noise around him.
"Emma? What's wrong?""
"Someone sent me a photograph of Brianna in our kitchen. It was taken three weeks ago.""
He went quiet.
"Send it to me.""
"I will, but listen. There's something in her hand. It looks like some kind of device.""
"Don't open anything else from that email. I'm forwarding the message to Detective Morgan.""
I sent him the photograph.
A few seconds later, he called back.
"Emma, I recognize that device.""
"What is it?""
"It's a small network adapter. The kind someone might use to connect equipment to a network.""
"Why would Brianna have one?""
"I don't know.""
I heard him moving away from the crowd.
"Do you remember when she came over to help us decorate the nursery? She said she wanted to surprise you while I was away.""
"That was the weekend before she asked for money.""
"Exactly. She spent nearly two hours in the house while you were upstairs sorting baby clothes.""
My throat tightened.
"I thought she was finally trying to make peace.""
"I know.""
Ryan's voice softened, and I hated how much I needed that gentleness.
"I should have told you how suspicious I'd become. I thought I could deal with her myself.""
"You're not responsible for what she chose to do.""
"But I should have protected you.""
"You can't protect me from something you don't know is coming, Ryan.""
Neither of us spoke for a moment.
Then I remembered the email.
"Someone knows about the second account. They knew to send me this photograph.""
"Forward everything to Detective Morgan. Don't reply to the sender.""
I did exactly that.
Twenty minutes later, Detective Morgan arrived with another officer. She examined the email on my phone and asked me to show her the original message without opening the attachment again.
"Do you recognize the sender?"" she asked.
"No.""
"Has anyone else contacted you about the camera?""
"Only Ryan and the security company.""
She photographed the screen and wrote down the message details.
"We'll request the relevant account records. The photograph itself may be useful, but we need to establish where it came from and whether it has been altered.""
"Can you tell who took it?""
"Not yet.""
She turned to the photograph.
"Do you remember this visit?""
I nodded.
"Brianna came over on a Saturday. She said she wanted to apologize for an argument she'd had with Ryan.""
"What argument?""
"He'd refused to give her more money. She said he was embarrassing her by treating her like a child.""
"And did she apologize?""
"To Ryan, supposedly. She brought pastries, asked about the babies, and offered to help with the nursery.""
Detective Morgan looked up.
"Did she have unsupervised access to the house?""
"Yes. I went upstairs to fold laundry.""
"Approximately how long?""
"Maybe forty minutes.""
The detective made another note.
"Don't assume that proves she accessed the security system. But we should include the visit in the timeline.""
After she left, I couldn't stop thinking about that afternoon.
Brianna had sat at my kitchen island, eating a pastry and asking whether Ryan planned to take more construction assignments overseas after the babies arrived.
I'd told her we hadn't decided.
She'd smiled and said, "You know, Emma, it's a shame Ryan spends so much time away from home. Someone should make sure his family is protected.""
At the time, I'd thought she was trying to be kind.
Now every word sounded different.
My phone rang again.
It was Patricia.
I almost let it go to voicemail, but something made me answer.
"Emma, darling," she began, using the sugary tone she reserved for occasions when she wanted something.
"I hear you've been talking to the police.""
"Yes.""
"About Brianna.""
"She attacked me.""
"Oh, please. We don't know that.""
I closed my eyes.
"Patricia, I was there.""
"And Brianna says you grabbed her first.""
"She's lying.""
"Then why are you so determined to turn this into a criminal matter? Think about the consequences. She could lose her job.
Her reputation. Her future.""
I looked toward the neonatal unit down the hall.
"My children nearly lost their lives.""
"Nobody wanted that to happen.""
"She punched me in the stomach.""
"She says you were hysterical.""
I gripped the phone.
"Would you like me to send you photographs of my injuries?""
Patricia inhaled sharply.
"Don't be vulgar.""
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Then I laughed once, bitterly.
"Vulgar? That's what you call it?""
"Emma, stop being dramatic. You're a mother now. Your priorities need to change.""
"They have changed. My children are my priority. That's why I'm telling the truth.""
Her voice hardened.
"Ryan will eventually realize what you've done to this family.""
"Ryan believes me.""
"He's upset. He's overseas. He doesn't know the whole story.""
"He knows enough.""
Patricia lowered her voice.
"Listen carefully. Brianna is going through a difficult time financially. She made a mistake, perhaps, but she's your children's aunt. If you pursue this, don't expect me to help you with the babies.""
I stared at the phone.
There it was.
Not concern.
Not grief.
A threat.
"You don't have to help me," I said.
"But you will not use my children to protect Brianna.""
I ended the call.
My hands shook for several seconds afterward.
Then I saved the call log and wrote down what Patricia had said while I could still remember every word.
I wasn't going to let anyone convince me that silence was the price of belonging to this family.
That evening, Ryan finally reached a quiet area of the airport and called me again.
"The security company got back to me," he said.
"They confirmed that a second user profile was created on the system.""
"Do they know who created it?""
"Not yet. But they found a login from a device that wasn't mine or yours.""
"Could it be Brianna's device?""
"They need the registration records to establish that.""
I swallowed.
"Did they say anything about the footage?""
"Some of the video is available. They're preserving the original files before giving them to the police.""
"Is the assault recorded?""
"Yes.""
The room seemed to tilt around me.
"You've seen it?""
"Only a preview. I stopped when I realized what I was watching.""
I covered my mouth.
"What does it show?""
His voice dropped.
"It shows her arriving. It shows her taking your phone. And it shows her striking you.""
I closed my eyes.
"Does it show her leaving?""
"Yes.""
"Then she can't say she wasn't there.""
"No.""
Ryan paused.
"But there's something else. The system recorded a settings change shortly before she arrived. The camera was still recording, but someone had altered the account permissions.""
My heart began pounding.
"Who did that?""
"They're investigating.""
"Ryan, what if someone was trying to hide the footage?""
"That's possible. But the original recording appears to have survived.""
I stared at the photograph on my phone.
Brianna's smile.
The little black device.
The second account.
And the anonymous person who had sent me the image.
"Someone wanted us to find this," I whispered.
"Maybe.""
"Why?""
"I don't know, Emma. But we're going to find out.""
Before we ended the call, Ryan made me promise to rest. I promised, although sleep seemed impossible.
At 11:18 p.m., another email arrived from the same unknown sender.
This time, there was no photograph.
Just a message.
Brianna wasn't the only person who accessed your camera. Check the account recovery records. The second user wasn't created to watch you.
I read it three times.
Then a final sentence appeared beneath it.
It was created to make sure the original footage could never be traced to the person who ordered the transfer.
I sat perfectly still.
The attempted transfer.
The second account.
The photograph taken weeks before the assault.
May you like
Suddenly, I wondered whether Brianna had been acting alone at all.
And if someone had paid her—or directed her—to steal the money, who would have wanted my children robbed before they were even born?
