My Husband And His Stepmother Called Me Their “cash Cow” While Sleeping Together. Then He Trapped Me In A Cave To Die For My Money. How Do I Make Sure They Never See Daylight Again?
The Hidden Drive
I finished the letter, tears having blurred my vision long ago. I was shaking, not from the cold but from a truth so horrifying. Murder, embezzlement, blackmail. Every one of Evelyn’s crimes was laid bare, raw and painful through the confession of a man who chose death to find peace.
I clutched the letter tightly. My father-in-law… he was not a coward. He was a father and a husband who had endured an unbearable burden of guilt. His death was not an end but the beginning of a final judgment.
I looked up at Maya.
“Maya, we have to find that USB drive now.”
My father-in-law’s suicide note was like a ticking time bomb shattering the last vestiges of their fabricated world. His death wasn’t surrender; it was a tragic act of protest.
I immediately handed the letter to the lead officer at the scene. After reading it, his expression became incredibly grave. He ordered a team back into the estate to conduct a thorough search of the study where Arthur had been staying. Maya and I were allowed to accompany them.
The room was small and simple, containing only an old bed, a wooden wardrobe, and a writing desk. Everything was neat and tidy with no signs of a struggle. We searched everywhere: in drawers, under the bed, inside books. But there was no wooden box.
My heart began to sink. Had Arthur in his panic hidden it somewhere else? Or worse, had someone already taken it?
“Nothing here sir,”
an officer reported.
“We’ve looked everywhere.”
I was on the verge of despair. That USB drive was the most crucial piece of evidence, the key to bringing Evelyn down for good. Without it, the suicide note could be dismissed as the ramblings of a disturbed mind lacking legal weight.
I stood in the middle of the room, trying to recall every detail from the letter. The USB drive I left in the wooden box with Kevin’s mother’s journal.
The journal. It hit me. Kevin’s mother’s journal. I had found it in the wooden box at the estate, but I had taken it to Maya’s office.
“Maya!”
I turned to her, my voice urgent.
“Do you still have Kevin’s mother’s journal?”
“Yes, I have it locked in the safe at my office,”
Maya replied, seeming to understand.
“We have to go now.”
We raced to her car and sped towards her law firm. The entire way I prayed that my hunch was right, that my father-in-law had been lucid enough to hide the evidence in the safest place possible.
At the office, Maya quickly opened the safe and retrieved the yellow journal. I took it with trembling hands, flipping through the pages searching for any clue. And then on the last page where Kevin’s mother had written Evelyn careful, I felt something rigid beneath the paper lining of the back cover.
My heart pounded. I carefully used my fingernail to peel back the old paper. Underneath, a small skillfully carved out slot was revealed, and nestled inside was a tiny black USB drive.
“It’s here!”
I nearly shouted with relief, tears streaming down my face. My father-in-law, he hadn’t failed me. He had used his own wife’s journal to hide the proof of her murder—a fateful and meaningful final act.
The Face of Evil
We wasted no time taking the USB drive straight to the police station. With me, Maya, and the investigators present, the drive was plugged into a computer. A host of files appeared: not just audio recordings as Arthur’s letter had mentioned, but also videos filmed with a hidden camera and scanned copies of documents and contracts Evelyn had forced him to sign. Everything was meticulously organized into folders by date.
My father-in-law, the gentle professor, had secretly become a patient and methodical investigator over the last 10 years.
The first video was played. A grainy image filmed from a hidden corner of the living room. On screen, Evelyn was handing Arthur a bowl of medicine.
“Drink this, it’s very good for her. It will help her sleep better,”
she said sweetly, but her eyes were cold. Arthur hesitated for a moment before taking the bowl into his wife’s room.
The next video, recorded a few days later, showed Kevin, then just a young man, in the same living room.
“Mom, why does she seem so tired lately?”
his voice asked.
Evelyn sighed.
“It’s the illness son. Don’t you worry, just let me take care of her. All you need to do is listen to me.”
The next file was an audio recording of a phone call Evelyn made.
“Don’t worry, the old fool trusts me completely and his sickly wife is on her last legs. Once this is all over, I’ll get you out of prison early. Then all this money will be ours.”
The man she was talking to had to be the man with the scar from the photograph. So it was even worse. She wasn’t acting alone. She had an accomplice, a partner in crime who was in prison. Her motives weren’t just greed; they were for love, a twisted criminal love.
One by one the videos and recordings were played, exposing Evelyn’s entire conspiracy: from the poisoning of Kevin’s mother to the blackmail of his father, the manipulation of Kevin, and the plan to defraud and dispose of me. It was all recorded in undeniable detail.
The lead investigator turned to me, his voice filled with sympathy but also unconcealed anger.
“Miss Thompson, with this evidence we have more than enough to press charges for first-degree murder. Your father-in-law’s sacrifice will not be in vain.”
I nodded, my heart heavy. Justice was coming, but the price had been so terribly high.
Just then another officer entered and whispered something to the lead investigator. I saw his expression change. He looked at me and said,
“Miss Thompson, we’ve just received word that Evelyn and Kevin have been released on bail pending further investigation, and they are on their way here now.”
They are on their way here now. The investigator’s words echoed in the quiet, tense room. Released on bail? Why now? Had they used their money and connections to get out, to find a way to fight back? A flurry of questions swirled in my mind.
I glanced at Maya who looked equally surprised and worried. The investigator seemed to read our thoughts.
“This is part of our plan,”
he explained.
“We intentionally let the judge grant bail to give them a false sense of hope, to see what they would do next. And as expected, the first thing they did upon release was come here. They probably think they can negotiate with you or threaten you one last time.”
I took a deep breath trying to calm my racing heart. A confrontation. It was time to face the demons who had destroyed my life and this family.
“I understand,”
I said, my voice steady again.
“I’ll see them.”
