Part 2The Fake Widowhood

I didn't even notice the elevator ride down to the garage.

The security guards were still detaining the girl in the lobby, her faint cries echoing down the shaft. I hit the button for the basement level, which offered a private exit through the building’s quiet coffee shop.

As a lawyer, I believed in evidence and cold logic.

The dead do not walk among the living, unless they were never dead to begin with.

Three years ago, Elliott had gone on a business trip to Colorado. He was driving through a mountain pass when a massive landslide swept his car off the cliff. The vehicle was crushed beneath tons of rock and dirt. The recovery team only found fragments of the vehicle and partial remains. Because a traditional identification was impossible, the police relied on his personal belongings, his wallet, and the license plate.

I had received a urn filled with ashes, along with a five-million-dollar life insurance payout.

At the time, I was working eighty-hour weeks to make partner. The loss had devastated me so deeply that I took a six-month leave of absence just to learn how to breathe again.

And now, I was supposed to believe he was alive?

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime.

The coffee shop was tucked into a dim corner of the basement, mostly empty during the morning rush.

I saw him immediately.

He was sitting by the window, wearing a faded gray utility jacket. His hair was longer than before, messy and unstyled. He held a cigarette between his fingers, staring down at his phone.

The way he held the cigarette, the slight hunch of his shoulders: my chest tightened so violently I could barely draw breath.

I quieted my steps, walking toward him.

The closer I got, the more the ghost became a man.

I stood behind him, catching the distinct, cheap scent of his brand of tobacco. I used to beg him to buy better quality cigarettes, but he always refused, claiming he preferred the harsh, throat-burning taste of the cheap stuff.

"Elliott."

I spoke his name.

He turned his head slowly.

Our eyes met.

It was indeed Elliott. His skin was darker, his face thinner, and the soft, gentle expression he used to wear was gone, replaced by a cynical, calculating look in his eyes.

There was no joy in his face, and no guilt.

He merely frowned, stubbing out his cigarette in a half-empty cup of cold coffee.

"You made it," he said.

His tone was so casual, as if he were asking me what we should have for dinner.

Slap!

I struck him with every ounce of strength in my body.

The sharp sound of the blow echoed through the quiet shop.

His head snapped to the side, a thin line of blood appearing at the corner of his lip. He stood up slowly, his face twisting with sudden rage. "Audrey! Are you out of your mind?!"

"Am I out of my mind?"

I let out a harsh laugh, though hot tears were beginning to sting my eyes.

"You've been dead for three years, Elliott. I spent three years crying over your grave, supporting your aging parents, and living like a ghost myself. And now you show up alive?"

"Why didn't you come back? Why did you send that pregnant girl to humiliate me at my own firm?"

"Did you want to ruin my career, or did you just want to see me lose my mind?"

Elliott wiped his lip, his eyes turning cold and dark.

"I couldn't come back, Audrey. I was deep in debt, and I didn't want the collectors coming after you."

"But I have to be back now. Gilligan is pregnant, and I need to give her a proper family."

"Let's just end this quietly. Sign the divorce papers, and return the five million dollars from the insurance policy to me."

"My life bought that money, Audrey. Since I'm still breathing, that money belongs to me."

I stared at him, a cold realization washing over me.

So that was his game.

It wasn't a miracle; it was a scam. He had faked his own death to wipe out his gambling debts and cash in on a massive insurance policy. And now that the heat had died down, or the money had run out, he had returned to claim the prize, bringing his mistress and his unborn child to push me out of the way.

I looked at the man I had loved for seven years, the husband I had wept for in the middle of the night, and felt a deep, sickening disgust.

"Elliott," I said, wiping a stray tear from my cheek, my voice turning to stone. "Have you forgotten what I do for a living?"

"I am a prosecutor's worst nightmare, and a criminal's greatest threat. I am a lawyer."

"Faking your death to claim a life insurance policy is major insurance fraud. With a sum of five million dollars, you are looking at a minimum of ten years in a federal penitentiary."

"Your relationship with that girl constitutes bigamy, which is another two years."

"And now, you are attempting to extort me."

I took a step closer, staring directly into his shifty eyes. "You want that five million dollars? Fine."

"Go claim it in prison."

Elliott's face fell, his arrogant posture vanishing. He hadn't expected me to be so cold, so analytical. Suddenly, his expression softened, and he dropped to his knees, grabbing my coat.

"Audrey! Please! I had no choice!" he begged, looking up at me with tears in his eyes. "The debt collectors would have killed me if I didn't pay them!"

"Gilligan is completely innocent in all of this. Please don't do this to us. I'm begging you!"

A few patrons in the coffee shop turned to stare.

The man who had been so smug a moment ago was now groveling like a dog at my feet. I looked down at him, and the last shred of affection I had held for him died.