PART 2 Abigail stared at the unfamiliar message for almost a full minute.
Abigail stared at the unfamiliar message for almost a full minute.
Mrs. Riley, don’t tell Spencer about the lottery yet. There is something far worse you need to find out.
Signed:
Naomi.
Her hands trembled as she typed a reply.
Who are you?
The answer came almost instantly.
Someone who helped create the lie. Someone who can’t live with it anymore. Meet me tomorrow. Ten o’clock. Riverside Café. Come alone. Don’t tell Spencer.
No explanation.
No last name.
Only an address.
Abigail read the messages over and over until the screen dimmed.
She barely slept that night.
For months she had believed life was testing her strength by making her choose between paying utility bills and paying hospital invoices. She had accepted every hardship because she believed her son was fighting for his life.
Now, for the first time, she wondered whether the greatest pain had never been Spencer’s illness at all.
It had been his deception.
The following morning, Abigail arrived at Riverside Café twenty minutes early.
She chose a quiet table near the window.
At exactly ten o’clock, a young woman in her early thirties stepped inside.
She looked exhausted.
Dark circles surrounded her eyes, and she kept glancing over her shoulder as though afraid someone had followed her.
“Mrs. Riley?”
Abigail nodded.
“I’m Naomi.”
She sat down slowly.
“I’m sorry.”
Those were the first words she spoke.
“I owe you more apologies than you’ll ever want to hear.”
Abigail folded her hands.
“Start talking.”
Naomi inhaled deeply.
“I worked as Spencer’s office manager for almost four years.”
Abigail frowned.
“He told me the business closed months ago.”
“It should have.”
Naomi looked down.
“But it didn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“He never lost the business because of bad luck.”
She hesitated.
“He emptied it himself.”
Abigail felt her stomach tighten.
Naomi opened a thick envelope she had carried beneath her jacket.
Inside were copies of invoices.
Bank statements.
Credit-card records.
Business tax documents.
She pushed them across the table.
“These are copies. I kept them because I knew someday someone would need the truth.”
Abigail stared at the papers.
The numbers blurred before her eyes.
Large cash withdrawals.
Luxury purchases.
Casino payments.
International vacations.
Designer watches.
Expensive restaurants.
Amounts that totaled hundreds of thousands of dollars.
“But…”
Her voice barely came out.
“He told me he couldn’t afford chemotherapy.”
Naomi closed her eyes.
“He could.”
Silence filled the café.
“He simply chose not to.”
Abigail’s breathing became shallow.
“No…”
“I’m sorry.”
Naomi swallowed hard.
“The hospital bills were real.”
“But Spencer always delayed paying them.”
“Why?”
“So you would.”
Every word struck like another hammer against Abigail’s heart.
“He knew you would sell your belongings before letting him suffer.”
Naomi reached into the envelope again.
“There is something even worse.”
She removed several photographs.
The first showed Spencer smiling beside an expensive sports car.
The second showed him drinking champagne aboard a yacht.
The third showed him standing with several friends at a luxury ski resort.
Each photograph carried dates.
Dates that matched weeks when Spencer had supposedly been too weak to leave the hospital.
Abigail’s fingers shook uncontrollably.
“He told me he couldn’t even stand…”
Naomi nodded.
“He wasn’t always admitted.”
“He checked himself in for a few days.”
“Left whenever he wanted.”
“Came back before your visits.”
Abigail felt as though every memory of the past year had suddenly become poisonous.
The nights she had cried herself to sleep.
The loans she had begged banks to approve.
The meals she had skipped.
The tiny apartment she had nearly lost.
Every sacrifice had become another convenience for Spencer.
She whispered only one question.
“Why are you telling me now?”
Naomi looked away.
“Because someone died.”
Abigail froze.
“What?”
“A man named Victor.”
“He invested everything he owned into Spencer’s printing company.”
“When the money disappeared…”
Naomi struggled to continue.
“…he suffered a heart attack after learning he’d lost his retirement savings.”
Abigail covered her mouth.
“No…”
“His daughter believes it was stress.”
“I believe Spencer destroyed him.”
Tears filled Naomi’s eyes.
“I stayed quiet because Spencer threatened to blame everything on me.”
“But I can’t carry this anymore.”
Abigail sat motionless.
Everything inside her had gone numb.
Then Naomi leaned closer.
“Mrs. Riley…”
“This isn’t only about money.”
Abigail slowly raised her eyes.
“What do you mean?”
Naomi lowered her voice until it became almost a whisper.
“I don’t think Spencer is as sick as everyone believes.”
The words seemed impossible.
“The doctors said—”
“I know what the doctors said.”
“But Spencer always insisted on handling certain appointments alone.”
“He changed clinics several times.”
“He refused second opinions.”
“He carried his own medical folders.”
Naomi looked directly into Abigail’s eyes.
“I once accidentally opened the wrong file.”
“It wasn’t cancer.”
Abigail felt the café disappear around her.
“What…”
“I only saw one page before Spencer grabbed it.”
“But I remember exactly what it said.”
Naomi spoke slowly.
Stable condition. Excellent prognosis. No immediate risk to life.
Abigail stared at her in disbelief.
“You’re certain?”
“I’ve replayed that moment in my head a thousand times.”
“I know what I saw.”
Abigail’s pulse thundered in her ears.
“If that’s true…”
Naomi nodded.
“Then someone has been lying.”
Abigail immediately stood.
“I’m going to the hospital.”
Naomi caught her wrist.
“No.”
“You can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because if Spencer realizes someone has talked…”
“He’ll destroy every piece of evidence before you can prove anything.”
Abigail slowly sat back down.
Naomi reached into her purse one final time.
This time she removed a small flash drive.
“I copied everything before I resigned.”
“Financial records.”
“Emails.”
“Insurance claims.”
“Invoices.”
“And one audio recording.”
Abigail accepted it carefully.
“What’s on it?”
Naomi hesitated.
“I never had the courage to listen again.”
“But I remember enough.”
“It was Spencer.”
“And another man.”
“They were discussing how long your savings would last…”
“…before convincing you to mortgage your house.”
Abigail closed her hand around the flash drive until her knuckles turned white.
She suddenly understood why Spencer had sounded so confident on the hospital phone call.
He hadn’t been improvising.
He had been following a plan.
A plan that had lasted far longer than she ever imagined.
As she prepared to leave, Naomi spoke one final sentence.
“Mrs. Riley…”
“If you’ve really come into money…”
“Don’t let anyone know.”
“Because Spencer isn’t the one pulling the strings.”
Abigail stopped walking.
“What are you talking about?”
Naomi’s face turned pale.
“The man behind him…”
“…is much more dangerous.”
Before Abigail could ask another question, Naomi looked toward the café entrance.
Her expression changed instantly.
Fear replaced guilt.
She whispered only three words.
“He’s here already.”
Abigail turned toward the glass doors.
A tall man wearing a gray suit had just stepped inside.
He wasn’t looking at the menu.
He wasn’t looking for a table.
His eyes were fixed directly on Naomi.
And then…
He smiled.