“You don’t have authority.”
Valerie looked him up and down.
“I don’t need authority to observe, document, and call the people who do.”
Then she turned to Emily.
“Do you need medical attention?”
Emily looked at Ryan. He stared back—cold, threatening.
For a moment, I thought she’d stay silent again.
But then she took a breath.
“My husband hit me,” she said. “And it wasn’t the first time.”
Ryan let out a nervous laugh.
“She’s exaggerating. My wife’s dramatic.”
“I’m not dramatic,” Emily said, her voice breaking. “I have photos. Messages. I’m scared every day.”
The silence that followed was heavier than any scream.
Valerie pulled me aside.
“Why did you say there’s something more?”
I pointed to the new truck outside. Derek’s luxury watch. Their expensive clothes. The way they reacted to that phone call.
“Ryan claims he does ‘insurance consulting.’ Derek says he sells used cars. But their lifestyle doesn’t match.”
Valerie frowned.
“Fraud?”
“Organized, maybe. And Emily might know more than she realizes.”
Right then, a man in a navy suit walked in.
“Michael Reeves,” he introduced himself. He didn’t ask what happened. He just looked at Ryan and said:
“Don’t say a word.”
