CHAPTER 6 The Wife Before Me
Brandon ran.
He overturned his chair, shoved past the waiter in the hallway, and disappeared through the restaurant’s rear exit before the undercover officers reached the private room.
Detective Ortiz ordered units to search the surrounding streets.
Patrick remained frozen beside the table.
Brenda kept repeating the same sentence.
“He wasn’t supposed to hurt anyone.”
My mother stared at her.
“So there was an agreement.”
Brenda closed her eyes.
Patrick sank back into his chair.
The officers separated them immediately.
Brenda was taken into one interview room at the police station. Patrick was taken into another. My mother and I waited with Rachel while investigators traced the phone and searched for Brandon.
The live video signal had been routed through multiple servers, but the background contained a clue: the faint ringing of a railway crossing every several minutes.
Police narrowed the possible locations to industrial buildings near three active rail lines.
At 2:00 a.m., they found the chair.
It was inside an abandoned mechanics shop.
The ropes were still warm.
Luis was gone.
So was Brandon.
Detective Ortiz returned to the station shortly before dawn.
“Brenda is talking,” she said.
“Where is Luis?”
“She claims she doesn’t know.”
“What did she admit?”
“That the family intended to pressure you into returning the money. She says Brandon proposed using a staged kidnapping photograph.”
“A staged photograph?”
“She claims Luis agreed to pose in exchange for debt forgiveness.”
“Was the fire staged too?”
“No. She denies any knowledge of the fire.”
“And tonight?”
“She says Brandon was supposed to send a prerecorded message while you were at dinner. There was never supposed to be a weapon or a timer.”
I thought of Brenda’s words.
That wasn’t the agreement.
Even her version of innocence involved terrorizing us.
“What does Patrick say?”
“That Brenda handled everything.”
“Of course.”
Detective Ortiz sat across from me.
“There’s something else. Patrick says Brandon has access to several vacant properties through the family companies. We’re searching them.”
“Could he leave the country?”
“Your passport was stolen, not his. We’ve issued an alert.”
Rachel entered carrying a printed email.
“Claire contacted me.”
Claire had seen news of the restaurant incident. She said Brandon once kept emergency cash and documents in a small lake house registered under a shell company.
Police searched it at sunrise.
They found no Brandon.
But they found boxes.
Dozens of them.
Inside were copies of loan applications, forged signatures, photographs of identity documents, and files labeled with women’s names.
Claire’s name was there.
So was mine.
The file marked MELANIE ALVAREZ contained copies of my driver’s license, passport, tax returns, employee identification, and bank statements.
Some had been obtained before our engagement.
Brandon had been collecting my financial records for almost two years.
Rachel turned one page toward me.
It was a projected loan application.
Borrower: Melanie Alvarez Hayes.
Requested amount: $3.8 million.
Collateral: Wedding funds, future earnings, and partial guarantee from Alvarez Agricultural Exports.
My father’s company.
“He planned to use our marriage to reach your family business,” Rachel said.
My legs weakened.
The relationship had not begun randomly.
Brandon had targeted me.
I remembered the charity event where we first met. He claimed a friend had invited him at the last minute.
But the event had been sponsored by my father’s company.
Brandon knew exactly who I was before he introduced himself.
Inside Claire’s file, police found similar documents. Brandon had attempted to use her nursing income and her parents’ property as collateral.
Another file belonged to a woman named Sofia Reyes.
The paperwork was six years old.
“Who is Sofia?” I asked.
Detective Ortiz searched the police database.
Her expression became grim.
“Sofia Reyes was reported missing five years ago.”
The room fell silent.
She was twenty-seven when she disappeared. Her car was found near a hiking trail. Police initially believed she had left voluntarily after ending a difficult relationship.
The boyfriend’s name was not included in the public summary.
Detective Ortiz requested the original case file.
An hour later, she returned.
“The boyfriend was Brandon.”
My mother gripped my hand.
Patrick claimed he had never heard of Sofia.
Brenda admitted meeting her but said the relationship had been brief.
Claire told a different story.
When police contacted her, she finally agreed to give a formal statement.
She said Brandon had once warned her about “ending up like Sofia.”
“I thought he meant she had ruined her reputation,” Claire explained during the recorded interview. “He said she tried to steal from his family and disappeared when people learned the truth.”
“Did he ever say where she went?” Detective Ortiz asked.
“No.”
“Did he threaten you directly?”
Claire touched the scar on her chin.
“He said women who betrayed him always regretted it.”
Police reopened Sofia’s disappearance.
By afternoon, investigators discovered that Sofia had worked as an accountant for one of Patrick’s companies. She resigned three days before she vanished.
Her resignation email accused the company of falsifying invoices.
The attachments had disappeared from the corporate server.
But Sofia had mailed a package to her sister.
The package never arrived.
A postal employee remembered it because Sofia had requested signature confirmation.
Security footage from the post office had long been deleted, but the tracking record remained.
The package was picked up by an authorized representative before it left the building.
The signature belonged to Rebecca.
Brandon’s cousin.
The same woman connected to the fake social media account and the wedding video.
Police brought Rebecca in for questioning.
She denied knowing Sofia.
Then investigators showed her the signature.
She asked for an attorney.
At 5:40 p.m., my phone rang from Brandon’s number.
Detective Ortiz motioned for me to answer while technicians traced the call.
“Where is Luis?” I asked.
“Safe.”
“You kidnapped him.”
“He came willingly.”
“Why?”
“Because your father was going to blame him for everything.”
“My father nearly died.”
“That was not my fault.”
“Then whose fault was it?”
Brandon breathed heavily.
“You need to stop listening to Claire.”
“We found the files.”
Silence.
“All the applications. My documents. Sofia’s name.”
His voice lowered.
“You don’t understand what you found.”
“Then explain it.”
“My father built a company that supports hundreds of families. Sometimes paperwork has to move faster than people.”
“You forged signatures.”
“I protected what was ours.”
“You planned to use my father’s company.”
“I planned to save both families.”
“You targeted me.”
“I loved you.”
The words made me feel sick.
“You don’t know what love means.”
“I know you were happy before Jessica filled your head with poison.”
“You threw a rag at me.”
He shouted, “It was a rag!”
The sudden fury revealed him more clearly than any confession.
He continued, quieter now.
“One stupid moment destroyed everything.”
“No. That moment showed me everything.”
Technicians signaled that they needed more time.
I kept him talking.
“Where is Luis?”
“He has information that could destroy all of us.”
“Then let him go.”
“I can’t.”
“Because of the fire?”
Brandon said nothing.
“Did you burn the warehouse?”
“No.”
“Did Brenda?”
“No.”
“Patrick?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
His voice changed.
For the first time, he sounded afraid.
“Sofia.”
My breath stopped.
“Sofia disappeared five years ago.”
“No,” he whispered. “She waited.”
The call ended.
The trace pointed to a motel near the state line.
Police arrived twenty minutes later.
The room was empty.
They found blood on the bathroom floor.
Luis’s wallet lay beside the sink.
On the mirror, someone had written four words in red lipstick:
ASK BRENDA ABOUT THE BASEMENT.
When detectives searched Brandon’s family home again, they moved a storage cabinet in the basement.
Behind it was a sealed door.
Patrick claimed he had never seen it.
Brenda began screaming before the officers opened it.
Inside, they found women’s clothing, old financial records, and a suitcase bearing the initials S.R.
At the bottom of the suitcase was a photograph.
Sofia stood beside Brenda, smiling.
May you like
On the back, someone had written:
To the mother I chose.
