Chapter 12 - Ryan Came Back For The Wrong Woman
After the incident near Evelyn’s sister’s house, police increased pressure.
Rental records.
Traffic cameras.
Hotel bookings.
Financial alerts.
Ryan could not use his regular accounts.
Most were frozen.
His fake identity was compromised.
He needed cash.
And people like Ryan rarely became less dangerous when options disappeared.
I returned to Portland under Rebecca’s advice because my divorce required meetings and because, frankly, I was tired of running.
I did not return to our townhouse.
I rented a small furnished place with security.
Molly came with me.
“You’re not getting rid of me,” she said.
“I wasn’t trying.”
“You were thinking it.”
She knew me too well.
Patricia visited most evenings.
Her relationship with me had changed.
Before, she had been my mother-in-law.
Now she felt like something less definable and more permanent.
Shared betrayal creates strange families.
The divorce proceedings moved quickly at first.
Ryan did not respond through counsel.
Then suddenly, an attorney appeared.
Charles Vinton.
Expensive.
Aggressive.
He filed a response claiming Ryan denied financial wrongdoing and accused me of “systematic marital alienation.”
Molly laughed for five straight minutes.
“What does that even mean?”
Rebecca translated.
“He wants to portray Emma as vindictive.”
Ryan demanded temporary access to marital funds.
Denied.
He demanded use of the townhouse.
Denied pending safety review.
He accused me of stealing personal property.
My attorney sent a list of the items he was welcome to retrieve under supervision.
He never scheduled pickup.
Because he didn’t care about clothes.
He cared about control.
Then came the most absurd demand.
He wanted the return of his watch.
The watch from Lauren’s nightstand.
Rebecca looked at me.
“Do you have it?”
“Police do.”
She smiled.
“I’ll let his lawyer know.”
The press coverage intensified.
Then a photograph surfaced.
Ryan and Lauren leaving a restaurant months earlier.
Lauren visibly pregnant.
The internet exploded.
My private humiliation became entertainment.
I stopped reading comments entirely.
One afternoon, while Molly and I were grocery shopping, a stranger approached me.
A woman around fifty.
“Are you Emma Mercer?”
My body stiffened.
Molly stepped closer.
“Yes,” I said cautiously.
The woman smiled sadly.
“My husband cheated on me after twenty-two years.”
I didn’t know what to say.
She touched my arm.
“Don’t let people make you feel stupid for trusting someone you loved.”
Then she walked away.
I stood between cereal and canned soup trying not to cry.
That sentence helped more than thousands of comments ever could.
Three nights later, Lauren disappeared.
Her cousin called Patricia.
Lauren had gone to a prenatal appointment that afternoon.
She never returned.
Her phone was found in a parking garage.
I felt cold all over.
Detective Collins asked the obvious questions.
Did Lauren contact me?
No.
Did she mention Ryan?
No.
Did she seem frightened?
Constantly.
Security footage from the clinic showed Lauren leaving alone.
At 3:48 p.m., she entered the garage.
At 3:51, Ryan appeared.
He approached from behind a concrete column.
Lauren stopped.
They argued.
No audio.
Then Ryan walked away.
Lauren followed him.
Not dragged.
Not forced.
Followed.
That complicated everything.
“Maybe she went willingly,” Molly said.
“Maybe.”
But I knew Ryan.
Persuasion was his favorite weapon.
At 10 p.m., I received a call.
Unknown number.
Lauren whispered, “Emma.”
I stood.
“Where are you?”
“I can’t say.”
“Are you with Ryan?”
Silence.
“Lauren.”
“Yes.”
“Are you safe?”
Another pause.
“I think so.”
Not good enough.
“What does he want?”
“He says he needs money.”
“Do not give him anything.”
“He says you have it.”
“What?”
“The Hawthorne money.”
“There is no Hawthorne money.”
“I told him.”
Ryan’s voice suddenly came through the line.
“Hi, babe.”
My blood froze.
I hadn’t heard him call me that since the morning everything broke.
“Where are you?”
“You know, I always liked that about you.”
“What?”
“You get right to business when you’re scared.”
I looked at Molly.
She was already texting Detective Collins.
“What do you want?”
“Three hundred thousand.”
I almost laughed.
“I don’t have three hundred thousand.”
“Your mother-in-law does.”
“Then call her.”
“I’m calling you.”
“Why?”
“Because she listens to you now.”
There it was.
Resentment.
Even now.
“You took Lauren?”
“She came with me.”
Lauren whispered something in the background.
Ryan snapped, “Quiet.”
My stomach tightened.
“Let her go.”
“She’s not a hostage.”
“Put her on the phone.”
“No.”
“Then she’s a hostage.”
He laughed.
“You always loved definitions.”
“Ryan.”
“What?”
“She’s pregnant with your child.”
“I know.”
“Then act like it.”
Silence.
Something in my words hit him.
Good.
I continued.
“No money.”
“Then maybe we talk about other things.”
“What things?”
“Documents.”
“What documents?”
“The trust amendment.”
Rachel’s copy.
Of course.
Ryan still wanted Hawthorne.
Even while wanted by police.
Even after being fired.
He was still obsessed with what he believed should be his.
“I don’t have it.”
“Get it.”
“No.”
His voice hardened.
“You’re not in a position to say no.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Think carefully.”
“I have.”
I hung up.
My hands were shaking.
Molly stared at me.
“Are you insane?”
“Probably.”
Police traced the call.
Prepaid phone.
Tower near Hood River.
Officers moved.
At 2:13 a.m., Lauren was found walking barefoot along a service road.
Alone.
Cold.
Terrified.
Alive.
Ryan had abandoned her when he spotted police lights near a motel.
At the hospital, she told investigators he had never physically forced her into the car.
He had told her he wanted to say goodbye.
Then took her phone.
Then drove.
Then refused to let her leave.
She cried when she saw me.
“I’m sorry.”
I stood at the foot of the bed.
“For which part?”
“All of it.”
I looked at her for a long time.
Then at the monitor tracking the heartbeat of her unborn child.
“I don’t forgive you.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
“But I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”
She started crying harder.
That was the closest thing to peace we could manage.
The next morning, police found Ryan’s motel room.
He was gone.
Again.
But on the table was an envelope addressed to me.
Inside were divorce papers.
Not ours.
A petition Ryan had drafted months earlier.
In the section asking for reason for dissolution, he had written:
Irreconcilable differences.
And beside proposed asset division, he had written something astonishing.
Emma receives townhouse and personal accounts.
Ryan retains all business interests.
Meaning North River.
Hawthorne.
The stolen millions.
May you like
He had planned to divorce me only after he finished stealing enough money.
And according to the date on the draft, he had planned to file four days after becoming CEO.
