Chapter 3 - Episode Seven
Rachel slept with Sophie's bedroom door locked.
Julian slept downstairs.
At 2:00 a.m., Rachel sat against the headboard wearing headphones and listened to the recorder.
The files went back nine weeks.
Some contained nothing but Julian conducting calls.
Others contained Rachel.
Arguing.
Crying.
Raising her voice.
One file captured a fight after Julian had missed Sophie's preschool recital.
Another caught Rachel yelling after discovering a company payment had been delayed.
On one recording, Rachel said, “I feel like I'm losing my mind.”
The sentence sounded terrifying without context.
Rachel remembered the night.
Her father’s birthday.
The first since his death that she had spent alone.
Julian had come home after midnight.
She had been grieving.
Someone had saved the sentence anyway.
She opened EPISODE 7.
Her own voice filled the headphones.
“Why is Sophie bruised again?”
Julian answered, “She's five.”
“I know how old she is.”
“You're obsessing.”
“What if something's wrong?”
“You've been under too much stress.”
Then Rachel heard herself crying.
The recording ended there.
She removed the headphones.
Her hands shook.
Julian had been building a collection of her worst moments.
At breakfast, she confronted him.
“Who are these recordings for?”
Julian poured coffee.
“No one.”
“Then why label them?”
“I was documenting your stress.”
“For what?”
“You've been unpredictable.”
“Have I?”
“You're proving my point.”
Rachel nearly threw the recorder at him.
Instead, she placed it carefully on the kitchen island.
“No. I'm proving mine. You provoke me, record my reaction, then describe the reaction as evidence.”
Julian lowered his voice.
“Sophie is upstairs.”
“Good. Keep your voice down.”
He looked almost impressed by that.
Rachel hated him for it.
“What is Northbridge Facilities?”
“A vendor.”
“How much has Hale paid them?”
“I don't know offhand.”
“You're COO.”
“We have hundreds of vendors.”
Rachel took out her phone.
“I called finance.”
Julian went still.
“I told you not to interfere with the refinancing.”
“My company is not something I interfere with.”
“You haven't run daily operations in two years.”
“That doesn't erase my voting rights.”
“Rachel—”
“Northbridge received 3.6 million dollars last year.”
Silence.
Rachel continued.
“And nearly two million this year.”
Julian put down his coffee.
“What exactly are you accusing me of?”
“I haven't decided yet.”
He smiled without warmth.
“That sounds like you.”
“What does that mean?”
“Accusations first. Facts later.”
Rachel understood.
He wanted another episode.
She looked around the kitchen.
“Where is it?”
“What?”
“The recorder.”
Julian's smile disappeared.
Rachel began opening cabinets.
Behind the coffee machine, she found nothing.
Under the island, nothing.
Then Sophie entered carrying her rabbit.
“Mommy?”
Rachel stopped.
“Morning, baby.”
Sophie pointed toward the ceiling.
“The little black thing?”
Julian's face changed.
Rachel followed Sophie's finger.
A smoke detector.
Or something designed to resemble one.
Rachel dragged a chair beneath it.
Julian grabbed her arm.
“Don't.”
She looked down at his hand.
He released her.
Rachel climbed up and twisted the device free.
Inside was a micro-camera.
Sophie whispered, “Clara says that's Daddy's eye.”
Rachel almost lost her balance.
She climbed down.
“Daddy's what?”
“She says Daddy sees when I'm bad.”
Julian looked at Sophie.
“Clara told you that?”
The shock in his voice sounded real.
For the first time, Rachel saw uncertainty.
Maybe Julian knew about recordings.
Maybe he didn't know everything Clara was doing.
That didn't make him innocent.
But it made the situation more complicated.
Rachel put the camera in her pocket.
Julian said, “That camera was installed for security.”
“By whom?”
“Clara arranged it after the jewelry scare.”
“What jewelry scare?”
“When you thought your mother's bracelet was missing.”
“I found it in my travel case the same day.”
“She had already contacted the installer.”
“Which installer?”
Julian didn't answer.
Rachel went upstairs.
The next four hours became an excavation.
She checked smoke detectors.
USB chargers.
Alarm clocks.
Inside Sophie's playroom, behind a bookshelf, she found another camera.
In the upstairs hall, another.
None faced exterior doors.
They faced Rachel's bedroom, the playroom, and the kitchen.
Someone wasn't protecting the house.
Someone was watching the family.
At noon, CPS arrived.
The caseworker, Dana Price, was professional but direct.
Rachel answered every question.
Then Dana asked, “Mrs. Mercer, did you strike Ms. Voss?”
“Yes.”
“Was your daughter present?”
“Yes.”
Rachel saw Julian watching from across the room.
She refused to look away.
“I should not have hit Clara. I saw my daughter in a drain and reacted. It was wrong.”
Dana wrote something.
“Ms. Voss alleges you frequently lose your temper in front of Sophie.”
Rachel felt the trap tightening.
“She said that?”
“She provided audio recordings.”
Rachel stared at Julian.
He looked down.
Dana continued.
“Several.”
Rachel's voice became quiet.
“Recordings my husband made.”
Julian said, “Rachel—”
“No. Let her finish.”
Dana watched them carefully.
Clara had submitted photographs too.
Messy rooms.
An overflowing wineglass beside Rachel's laptop.
Sophie crying.
Rachel asleep on a sofa.
Each image alone meant little.
Together, they created a story.
An overwhelmed mother.
An unstable home.
An employee frightened by her employer.
Rachel realized how efficiently it had been assembled.
That evening, after Dana left, Rachel searched the files Julian had forgotten to remove from the shared family computer.
She typed NORTHBRIDGE.
Nothing.
Then CLARA.
Nothing.
Finally she searched the date Clara had started working for them.
One email appeared in an archived mailbox synced from Julian's old account.
Subject:
PLACEMENT CONFIRMED.
Rachel opened it.
From: Martin Kessler.
To: Julian Mercer.
The message contained only one sentence.
Clara Voss starts Monday. As discussed, she understands what documentation will be required.
Rachel read it twice.
Then a third time.
At the bottom was an attachment.
CONFIDENTIAL — HALE CONTROL STRATEGY.
Rachel clicked.
The file was password protected.
Behind her, the floorboard creaked.
Rachel turned.
Julian stood in the doorway.
He wasn't looking at her.
May you like
He was looking at the screen.
And the fear on his face told Rachel that whatever was inside that file was bigger than their marriage.
