I ignored it, focusing instead on composing an email to Timothy requesting everything he could find on Jennifer Sanderson. If Blake had been funneling my daughter’s money to this woman, I wanted to know exactly how much and for how long.
My phone chimed again.
I know you’re reading these. Look, I screwed up, okay? But cutting me off completely is extreme. I need access to at least one card to get home to Olivia. Don’t you want me there with her?
The audacity was breathtaking. After abandoning her for six days to party in Miami with another woman—likely one of many, if Jennifer Sanderson was any indication—he was attempting to portray himself as the concerned husband, desperate to return to his wife’s side.
A third message arrived.
If you don’t help me, I’ll have to explain to Olivia why her mother left me stranded without resources. Is that what you want when she wakes up? For her to know you tried to destroy our marriage?
There it was. The threat. The manipulation. The calculated play on family loyalty.
I could almost admire the technique if it weren’t so transparent.
My response was brief.
Officer Ramirez is eager to speak with you about driving under the influence and reckless endangerment. I suggest you use your return to Chicago to visit the police station first. As for resources, perhaps Jennifer Sanderson in Tampa can help.
His reply came instantly.
Who the hell is Jennifer? What are you talking about?
I didn’t bother responding. Instead, I forwarded our entire text exchange to Officer Ramirez, adding Jennifer Sanderson’s information and the evidence of Blake’s ongoing infidelity.
The morning progressed with a steady stream of medical personnel checking Olivia’s condition. Physical therapists moved her limbs gently to prevent muscle atrophy. Respiratory specialists adjusted ventilator settings. Each interaction reinforced the severity of her injuries and the long recovery ahead. Recovery that Blake had clearly had no intention of supporting until his financial access was cut off.
Shortly after noon, Timothy called with another update.
“Rebecca, Blake Thompson just tried to use his secondary credit card—the one he kept in Olivia’s name, but that you weren’t aware of until yesterday.”
“And?” I prompted, stepping into the hallway again.
“We froze that one too, of course. But here’s the interesting part. He was attempting to purchase a one-way ticket to Cancun, Mexico, not Chicago.”
So much for his text about rushing back to Olivia’s side.
“Can you send me the details?” I asked.
“Already done. I’ve also taken the liberty of alerting the airline security team, since using Olivia’s credit card while she’s incapacitated constitutes potential fraud.”
“Thank you, Timothy,” I said, genuine appreciation in my voice. “You’ve gone above and beyond.”
“It’s the least I can do. My sister went through something similar with her ex-husband.” His voice hardened slightly. “Men who take advantage of women deserve everything that’s coming to them.”
After ending the call, I stood in the hospital hallway watching medical staff hurry past. Blake wasn’t just a neglectful husband who’d made a terrible mistake. He was actively attempting to flee the country, using my daughter’s credit to escape the consequences of nearly killing her.
The phone in my hand buzzed with yet another message from Blake, this one reverting to threats.
You’ve made a serious mistake. I have rights to that money as Olivia’s husband. My lawyer will destroy you for this financial interference.
I smiled grimly at the empty threat. In my thirty-year finance career, I’d faced down corporate raiders and hostile takeovers from men far more powerful and sophisticated than Blake Thompson. His legal posturing was as empty as his promises to Olivia had been.
Returning to my daughter’s room, I found Linda preparing to end her shift.
“Dr. Patel ordered another scan for this afternoon,” she informed me. “If the results continue to show improvement, they’ll begin weaning the sedation tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you for everything, Linda,” I said sincerely. “Your care for Olivia has been extraordinary.”
After she left, I settled back beside my daughter, taking her hand gently in mine.
“I’m learning some difficult truths about your husband, sweetheart,” I told her quietly. “But don’t worry, I’m handling it. By the time you wake up, you’ll be protected from whatever he might try next.”
The ventilator continued its steady rhythm as I opened my laptop again, preparing for the next phase of dismantling Blake Thompson’s carefully constructed façade.
Day three of my hospital vigil brought the first real change in Olivia’s condition. Dr. Patel and his team began the careful process of reducing her sedation, watching for signs of neurological response as the powerful drugs slowly cleared her system.
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