Chapter 3 - THE CAMERA
By the time we returned home, most of the birthday guests were gone.
The balloons still moved gently above the backyard fence.
A large number one made of gold foil twisted in the evening breeze as though the party were still happening.
The sight made me furious.
My son’s first birthday decorations had become the backdrop to a crime scene.
Police tape crossed the entrance to my office.
An officer met us inside.
“Your mother and Mr. Bradley have been transported.”
“Mason is a Bradley too.”
The officer nodded.
“Your cousin.”
“Yes.”
He led me toward the office.
Amy stayed in the living room with Frederick.
I had worked from that room hundreds of nights.
My drafting table stood near the window.
My laptop dock was on the desk.
A steel file box sat beside a bookcase.
Its lock had been bent open.
The officer pointed toward the third shelf.
At first I saw nothing unusual.
Then I noticed a small black square hidden between two books.
“It looks like a standard Wi-Fi camera.”
“Who installed it?”
“We don’t know.”
“Where was it sending video?”
“That will require digital analysis.”
I walked closer.
The lens pointed directly at my desk.
Anyone watching could have seen documents I opened.
Passwords I typed.
Mail I sorted.
Checks I signed.
I remembered Teresa spending hours at our house while I worked.
Sometimes she brought coffee.
Sometimes she cleaned.
Sometimes she walked into my office without knocking.
I used to joke that she treated our house like hers.
Now the joke felt disgusting.
The officer opened an evidence bag.
“We also recovered this from the kitchen trash.”
Inside was a shipping label.
The recipient was Teresa Bradley.
The item description read MINI SECURITY CAMERA.
My mother had not even been careful enough to destroy the packaging completely.
“She bought it?”
“It appears so.”
I stared at the evidence bag.
“How long has it been there?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Amy appeared behind me.
“Seven months.”
I turned.
“How do you know?”
Her face had gone pale.
“I remember the day.”
“What day?”
“Your mother rearranged this bookshelf.”
I looked at her.
“She said dust was making Frederick sick.”
The camera had probably been installed when my son was four months old.
Maybe earlier.
I felt something inside me shift.
This was no impulsive theft.
It was surveillance.
Planning.
Patience.
I asked the officer whether I could use my laptop.
He advised me not to disturb anything until their evidence technician arrived.
So I used my phone instead.
I logged into my bank.
My checking account looked normal.
My savings looked normal.
Then I checked external transfer authorizations.
There was one I did not recognize.
BRADLEY FAMILY HOLDINGS LLC.
I clicked it.
The account had been added eleven days earlier.
No money had moved yet.
I had never heard of Bradley Family Holdings.
“Officer.”
He came closer.
I showed him.
“I did not create this.”
He photographed the screen.
“Do not delete it.”
“I won’t.”
Then I checked my email.
I searched the company name.
Nothing.
I searched “refinance.”
Three deleted messages appeared in the trash folder.
One was from a mortgage broker.
Thank you for your interest in accessing equity from your Nashville residence.
Another requested income verification.
The third confirmed receipt of preliminary documents.
All had been deleted before I saw them.
My mother knew my email password.
Or the camera had captured it.
I opened the first message.
The loan amount made me sit down.
Two hundred and eighty thousand dollars.
That was almost the entire available equity in our home.
The proposed borrower was me.
The contact phone number was not mine.
It belonged to Teresa.
The officer read over my shoulder.
“Save all of this.”
I forwarded everything to a new email account immediately.
Then I froze.
A memory surfaced.
Three weeks earlier, Teresa had asked me an odd question.
“If something happened to you, does Amy automatically get the house?”
I had laughed.
“Hopefully nothing happens to me.”
She smiled.
“I’m just asking.”
At the time, it sounded like ordinary parental anxiety.
Now it sounded like research.
Amy sat in the chair across from me.
“Connor.”
“Yes.”
“I think she has been reading my messages too.”
“Why?”
“She knows things I never told her.”
“Like what?”
Amy rubbed her hands together.
“She knew I was thinking about going back to work.”
“That isn’t secret.”
“She knew which company.”
I looked at her.
“Did you tell anyone?”
“No.”
“How would she know?”
“I emailed my old supervisor.”
My stomach tightened.
Amy’s tablet was connected to our home Wi-Fi.
If Teresa had access to the router or hidden cameras, I no longer knew what she could see.
An evidence technician arrived and disconnected the camera.
Then he examined our router.
After fifteen minutes, he looked at me.
“There are two administrator profiles.”
“There should only be one.”
He turned the screen toward me.
The first profile was mine.
The second profile was labeled TBRADLEY.
My mother had administrator access to our home network.
I changed every password while the technician documented the settings.
Then my phone buzzed.
A text message had arrived from an unknown number.
YOU ARE DESTROYING YOUR FAMILY OVER A MISUNDERSTANDING.
I stared at it.
A second message arrived.
AMY HAS BEEN POISONING YOU AGAINST YOUR MOTHER FOR MONTHS.
Then a third.
DROP THE CHARGES BEFORE EVERYONE FINDS OUT WHAT YOUR WIFE HAS BEEN HIDING.
Amy saw my face.
“What is it?”
I showed her.
She read the messages.
Her expression changed at the last one.
Not confusion.
Fear.
“Amy?”
She handed the phone back.
“What is she talking about?”
My wife looked toward the hallway where Frederick was sleeping.
May you like
Then she whispered.
“There is something I haven’t told you.”
