Cassie’s grin turned dangerous. “London is perfect. Different country. Different number. Different everything. Sell the house. Take the job. Burn the bridge while they are over the Pacific.”
It sounded impossible. Then it sounded clean.
We worked until after two in the morning. I changed passwords, froze cards, transferred the remaining wedding funds into an account Brett could not access, and printed every screenshot twice. Cassie called my locksmith, her ex-brother-in-law, and left him a message that simply said, Emergency. Bring your drill. I called in sick to the pharmacy for the next day, the first unscheduled sick day I had taken in over five years. When Cassie finally left, she hugged me hard in the foyer.
“Do not answer them if they call,” she said. “And Val?”
“Yeah?”
“This ends with you safe. Not polite. Safe.”