I believed she had matured.
Then one evening, I returned home early and found her sitting far too close to Marcus on our sofa.
They separated like teenagers caught doing something forbidden.
“Family conversation,” Marcus said with unnatural brightness.
Sophia refused to look at me.
That night, I examined the browsing history on our home computer.
My hands turned cold before I reached the end.
Searches about poisons.
Searches about deaths that appeared natural.
Searches about life-insurance payouts and business ownership after a spouse died.
I printed every page and concealed them inside my office on the fortieth floor of the Willis Tower.
The following day, I purchased three small wireless cameras from an electronics store in Wicker Park.
I hid one behind a coffee container in the kitchen.
Another went inside Marcus’s basement workshop.
The third sat behind a framed photograph in the living room.
For three days, the cameras captured nothing important.
