“Don’t try to open the door, Rosalind.”
“It’s already too late for you.”
Those were the last words I heard from my husband before he climbed out through the driver’s window and left my brother and me trapped inside a sinking SUV.
For one second, I thought I had misunderstood him.
Then Garrett looked directly at me through the open window.
And smiled.
That was when I knew.
This was not an accident.
My name is Rosalind Mercer.
I was thirty-four years old.
I had been married to Garrett Vale for three years.
Until that afternoon, I believed I knew exactly who he was.
I was wrong.
Garrett was driving us south along the coastal road near Savannah Creek.
Rain hammered against the windshield.
The river beside us looked black beneath the storm clouds.
My brother Tobias sat in the back seat.
His wheelchair was folded beside him.
He had used it for fifteen years.
Ever since the accident that killed our parents.
I was nineteen when it happened.
Tobias was twenty-two.
Our parents had been driving home from the Mercer Shipyard outside Baltimore.
Their car left the road on a bridge.
Both died before help arrived.
Tobias survived.
But doctors told us his spinal injuries were devastating.
He never walked again.
At least that was what I had believed.
That afternoon, Garrett told me he wanted to show us a property near Savannah Creek.
He said it might be a good investment.
The Mercer family owned several marine businesses.
Garrett had become increasingly involved after our marriage.
At first, I liked that.
I thought it meant he wanted to be part of my world.
Now I understood he had wanted control of it.
The road curved sharply ahead.
Garrett accelerated.
I looked over.
“Slow down.”
He did not respond.
“Garrett.”
His hands tightened around the wheel.
Then the SUV suddenly veered right.
We smashed through the barrier.
Metal screamed.
Glass shattered.
The world tilted.
I remember seeing the river rise toward the windshield.
Then impact.
My head struck the side window.
Everything went black.
When I opened my eyes, the SUV was sinking.
Water covered my shoes.
My ears rang.
My chest hurt from the seat belt.
“Garrett!”
He was conscious.
Completely conscious.
He calmly removed his seat belt.
The driver’s window was already down.
I grabbed my buckle.
It did not release.
“Garrett, the door won’t open!”
He looked at me.
No panic.
No confusion.
Nothing.
Then he said it.
“Don’t try to open the door, Rosalind.”
My hands stopped.
“It’s already too late for you.”
My blood went cold.
He climbed through the window.
“Garrett!”
He disappeared into the water.
“Tobias is in the back!”
No response.
I screamed again.
“He can’t swim!”
Garrett did not turn around.
I fought with my seat belt.
The buckle was jammed.
I pulled harder.
Nothing.
The water rose to my knees.
Then my waist.
I reached beneath the seat.
My fingers touched metal.
Not part of the buckle.
A wire.
I followed it with my hand.
Someone had looped a steel cable through the seat belt mechanism.
Then secured it beneath the seat frame.
My breathing stopped.
The belt had been sabotaged.
This had been prepared.
I looked toward the shore.
Garrett was swimming calmly.
Then I saw someone waiting.
A woman stood beneath a large black umbrella.
At first, rain blurred her face.
Then lightning flashed.
I recognized her.
Penelope.
My half sister.
My father had a brief relationship before he married my mother.
Penelope was two years older than me.
She had never lived with us.
But she had always been part of the wider family.
Birthdays.
Christmas.
Board meetings after she became an adult.
She and I had never been close.
