But despite my tiredness, I couldn’t sleep. My thoughts kept revolving around John, his double life, his secrets. I decided to review the contents of the USB drive again.
Maybe I’ll find something I missed the first time. Something that will help solve this puzzle. I opened my laptop, inserted the USB drive, and began methodically reviewing file after file.
I paid special attention to the videos where John was addressing Sarah, talking about the potential danger and the need to be careful. In one of the videos, from last year, John seemed especially tense. He spoke quickly, nervously, often looking around, as if afraid someone might hear him.
Sarah,” he began, “if you’re watching this video, it means something went wrong. It means I couldn’t return as promised. In the box are all the necessary documents.
Certificates, accounts, everything you need to keep you and David safe. If anything happens to me, contact Victor. He knows what to do.
And remember, I’ve always loved only you and David. Everything I did, I did for you.” The video ended, and I sat there staring at the screen.
John spoke of a box with documents inside. But in the box I found in the cactus pot, there was only a photograph. No documents, no certificates, nothing that could guarantee Sarah and David’s safety.
And who is this Victor? John didn’t mention his last name or provide any contact information. How was Sarah supposed to find him? And what does this Victor know that could help in case of danger? The questions multiplied, but the answers didn’t. I kept looking through the files, hoping to find at least some clue, at least some explanation.
In the documents folder, I found a strange file with no extension. It wouldn’t open with standard programs, and I was about to skip it when I saw its name: Victor, the exact same name John mentioned in the video message to Sarah.
I tried opening the file with different programs, but to no avail. It seemed to be encrypted or password-protected. This only fueled my curiosity…
What secret could there be? What important thing was John keeping in this file? I remembered that the USB drive had passport scans with different surnames. Perhaps one of them belonged to the mysterious Victor? I opened the passport folder again and examined each document carefully. And, sure enough, one of them had the name: Victor Smith.
But the photo was of John. Turns out, Victor is one of my husband’s alter egos.
One of his many personalities. My head was spinning with all these discoveries. Who was really the man I’d lived with for six years? An ordinary manager? A master of a double life? A criminal with multiple passports? Or someone else I didn’t even suspect? It was well after midnight when I finally shut down my computer and went to bed.
Fatigue took its toll, and almost immediately I fell into a deep, restless sleep, filled with strange visions and vague fears. I was awakened by the sound of an incoming message on my phone. It was early morning, just outside the window, dawn had just begun to break.
I picked up my phone and looked at the screen. The message was from Sarah. I’m in trouble. Someone forced open the cabin door.
David and I are safe, but I’m scared to go back to Boston. What if they’re coming too? I called her immediately, but the phone was out of range. I tried sending her a text.
It wasn’t delivered. What was going on? Who could have forced open the cabin door? And more importantly, does this have to do with our conversation about John? Not knowing what else to do, I decided to go back to Springfield, find Sarah’s cabin, and make sure she and her son were okay.
Maybe it was paranoia, but after everything I’d learned in the past two days, any oddity seemed like a potential threat. Quickly gearing up, I left the hotel and hurried to the station. Luckily, the first train to Springfield was leaving in 20 minutes.
I bought a ticket and sat in a half-empty car. The journey seemed endless. I couldn’t find a seat, unconcerned.
What if something had really happened to Sarah? What if all that talk about danger wasn’t just empty words, but a real warning? Finally, the train arrived in Springfield. I headed immediately to the taxi stand, intending to go to the Forest Glade Café where we met Sarah yesterday. From there I could start looking for her cabin.
The taxi driver, an older man with a kind face, listened to my request with interest. “To the Woodland Glade?” he asked. “It’s a bit far.”
And why do you need to be there so early? The café is still closed. I’m looking for a friend, I explained. She’s in the cabin around here, but I don’t know the exact address. We agreed to meet at the café, but she doesn’t answer my calls.
The taxi driver nodded understandingly. “And what’s your friend’s name? Maybe I know her. I’ve been driving taxis around here for 20 years; I know all the villagers.”
“Sarah Miller,” I replied, not holding out much hope for luck. “With my son David.” To my surprise, the taxi driver’s face lit up. “Oh, the Millers.”
Of course I know them. They’re good people. Their cabin is in Sunny, just behind the Woodland Glade.
Do you want a ride? I couldn’t believe my luck. Is it really going to be that easy? “Yes, please, take me to them,” I agreed. The drive lasted about 20 minutes.
We drove past the closed Forest Glade café, turned onto a dirt road, and soon found ourselves at the gates of a rural settlement with a sign that read “Sunny.” “The Millers’ cabin is that green one with white shutters,” the taxi driver pointed out, stopping the car on the sidewalk. The strange thing was that their car wasn’t there.
Maybe they’ve already left? I paid the taxi driver and got out of the car. Sure enough, there was no car to be seen on the plot. Maybe Sarah and David had already left? Or hadn’t they come to the house this weekend, and the message was fake? But why did Sarah write about the broken gate? And why didn’t she answer my calls or texts? I approached the gate and gently pushed it open.
Unlocked. It seemed odd. If Sarah was afraid for her safety, shouldn’t she have locked all the doors and gates? The plot was well-kept, with immaculate flowerbeds and flowerbeds.
The two-story house with a terrace looked cozy and well-maintained. I approached the front door and immediately noticed signs of burglary. The lock was broken, and the door was only held by its top hinge.
My heart pounded with anxiety. Something had really happened. Someone had broken into the door.
But where’s Sarah? Where’s David? I carefully pushed the door open and entered. “Sarah?” I knocked. “David? Is anyone home?” The answer was silence.
The house seemed empty. I crossed the hallway and entered the living room. There was complete disarray.
Overturned furniture, torn-out drawers, contents scattered on the floor. It seemed someone was searching for something, and doing so in a hurry, with no regard for safety. I went up to the second floor. The same picture.
Devastation, chaos, scattered things. In one of the rooms, apparently David’s bedroom, were textbooks, sports uniforms, and posters ripped from the walls. In another, probably Sarah’s bedroom, the contents of the wardrobe were gutted on the bed, with the nightstand drawers ripped out.
What happened here? Who organized this pogrom? And most importantly, where were Sarah and David? I went downstairs and examined the kitchen. The mess was less, but still noticeable. On the table were two cups of unfinished tea.
So they were here when the break-in occurred. Perhaps they heard something and tried to hide? But where? And why didn’t Sarah answer my calls or texts? I went out onto the back deck. From there, I could see the garden and a small wood behind it.
Perhaps they ran over there? They hid among the trees. Sarah. I shouted. David.
It’s me, Emily. Are you here? In reply. All I could hear was the rustling of leaves and the birds singing.
It seemed like no one was on the plot. But where could they have gone? They didn’t have a car; the nearest settlement was several kilometers away. I returned to the house, feeling a growing anxiety.
Clearly, something had happened, something bad. But what exactly, and how did it relate to John and his secrets? Scanning the living room, I noticed something shiny under the overturned armchair. I bent down and picked it up.
It was a cell phone. The screen was cracked, but
