He texted back, [If it had been a bigger quake, I'd be cashing in on that insurance money.]
[Why would you say that?] I asked.
[I locked her in the apartment. She couldn't get out. She'd be as good as dead.]
I knew he was referring to me.
To gather more evidence, I asked, [You locked your wife, Angie Wiley, inside?]
He confirmed, [Yeah. Her parents tried calling, but I didn't pick up. A big earthquake right now would be perfect.]
Without hesitation, I took a screenshot of the conversation.
Before bed, I had noticed a strange username on Rob's phone.
He had deleted their chat history, but the profile picture was of a young woman.
I checked her social media and found that Rob had liked every single one of her selfies.
A woman's intuition was rarely wrong.
Just then, she messaged him, suggesting that staging a car accident to kill me would be less suspicious.
It was clear they'd spent a lot of time discussing how to kill me for the insurance money.
I played along, saying goodnight to her and then blocking her.
I changed my username to match hers and swapped in the same profile picture.
To cover my tracks, I also deleted the photos Rob had taken of me during our afternoon tea.