“There’s an officer here who’d like to speak with you. He was the first responder at your daughter’s accident.”
Officer Ramirez was stocky and serious, with the weathered look of someone who’d seen too many preventable tragedies. He explained that they’d been trying to reach Blake for follow-up questions about the accident.
“We have reason to believe Mr. Thompson may have been texting at the time of the crash in addition to the alcohol in his system,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “The impact angle suggests he wasn’t watching the road for several seconds before the collision.”
White-hot rage surged through me.
“Have you filed charges?” I demanded.
“We’re building a case for reckless endangerment and possibly vehicular assault. His disappearance complicates matters.” Ramirez hesitated. “Mrs. Harrison, do you have any idea where your son-in-law might be?”
I shook my head, then paused.
“Not yet,” I said. “But I intend to find out.”
After he left, I returned to my methodical investigation.
I tried calling Blake again—straight to voicemail.
I checked the location-sharing app Olivia had set up for family emergencies. Blake’s phone location services were turned off.
Next, I logged into my banking app. As a wedding gift, I’d added Olivia and Blake to one of my accounts, providing them access to emergency funds if needed. I scrolled through recent transactions, looking for any clue to Blake’s whereabouts.
What I found stopped my heart.
A series of large withdrawals and charges had begun exactly one day after Olivia’s accident. Hotel charges in Miami. Restaurant bills exceeding a thousand dollars. A yacht rental company. Designer boutiques. Cash withdrawals totaling over fifteen thousand dollars.
While my daughter lay unconscious, her husband was on a spending spree in Miami.
My hands trembling with rage, I opened Instagram and searched for Blake’s account. He rarely posted, preferring to “live in the moment,” as he always claimed. But perhaps his friends weren’t so discreet.
I didn’t have to search long.
Blake had been tagged in multiple photos posted just hours earlier by someone named Trent Lockwood. The images showed a luxury yacht filled with laughing people holding champagne flutes. Blake stood center frame in several shots, his arm around a bikini-clad woman who definitely wasn’t my daughter. His face was unmarked except for a small bandage above his eyebrow—the only visible evidence of the crash that had shattered Olivia’s body.
The caption read, “Living the dream with the boys. Three days in and no signs of stopping. Yacht life, Miami living, blessed.”
Three days.
He’d been partying for three days while Olivia fought for her life.
I zoomed in on the images, studying details with cold precision. The yacht’s name was visible in one shot: Seize the Day. The coastline of Miami provided the backdrop. In another photo, Blake held up a bottle of Dom Pérignon, laughing into the camera.
In that moment, something fundamental shifted inside me.
The concerned mother searching for her daughter’s missing husband vanished, replaced by the strategic executive who had built her reputation on dismantling opponents who underestimated her.
I picked up my phone and called my personal banker, Timothy, who answered despite the late hour.
“Rebecca, welcome back. How was Europe?” he greeted warmly.
“Timothy, I need emergency assistance,” I cut in, my voice deadly calm. “I need to freeze all accounts that Blake Thompson has access to immediately—credit cards, checking, savings, everything.”
Timothy’s tone shifted instantly to professional concern.
“Of course. May I ask what’s happened?”
“My daughter is in intensive care after a car accident where Blake was driving drunk. He’s abandoned her and is currently spending her money on a yacht in Miami with another woman.”
The stunned silence lasted only a moment before Timothy’s keyboard clicked rapidly in the background.
“I’m implementing the security protocols now. All shared accounts will be frozen within minutes. His cards will be declined on the next attempt to use them.”
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