Clara stood in the master bedroom upstairs, her hands trembling violently as she threw random clothes into a small leather duffel bag.
Clara: He’s out of his mind. He’s completely lost his mind.
She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve, looking around the opulent room filled with expensive artwork and custom furniture.
Clara: Think, Clara. Think. He’s going to use his money to destroy you if you don't prove what happened.
She paused, looking up at the small black dome in the corner of the ceiling above the king-sized bed.
Clara: The indoor security system... Richard installed hidden cameras in every hallway last year.
She rushed over to the small built-in desk near the walk-in closet where the central control hub and backup hard drive were located.
Clara: The password. What was the password he set for the cloud backup?
She typed in her birthday—error. She typed in their anniversary—error.
Clara: Come on, come on...
She typed in Maya’s birth date, and the screen flashed green, unlocking the local server access logs.
Clara: Hallway camera three... top of the staircase... zero-eight-hundred hours to zero-nine-hundred hours today.
She scrubbed back the footage frame by frame until she saw herself holding Maya near the upper landing.
Clara: There... look at the railing.
She zoomed in on the white wooden spindle at the base of the top floor balcony.
Clara: Wait... what is that?
On the high-definition footage, Clara watched closely as a man wearing a dark hoodie approached the banister at two in the morning, holding a portable power tool.
Clara: Someone sawed through the bottom dowels? Who was in our house last night?
The figure on the screen turned slightly toward the angle of the wall sconce, revealing his face beneath the pulled-up hood.
Clara: Oh my God... Richard?
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