Chapter 6 - The Private Investigator
Daniel spent the rest of the day hiding in a cheap, highly anonymous motel on the edge of the city.
He used the last five hundred dollars in his personal wallet to hire a disgraced former police detective turned private investigator.
The investigator, a gruff man named Miller, agreed to meet Daniel in the dim, smoky motel room.
Daniel handed Miller a printed photograph of Claire from their wedding day, desperate for any solid lead.
"I need you to find my wife, completely track her financial movements, and tell me where she went today," Daniel instructed frantically.
Miller took the photograph, pulled out a heavily battered laptop, and started running her name through restricted police databases.
Daniel paced nervously back and forth across the stained motel carpet, constantly checking the window for mob assassins.
An hour passed in complete, agonizing silence, broken only by the aggressive clicking of Miller's keyboard.
Finally, Miller slammed his laptop completely shut and let out a long, highly exhausted sigh.
"I don't know who this woman is, buddy, but she is definitely not your wife," Miller said grimly.
Daniel stopped pacing and stared at the investigator in total, absolute confusion.
"Her name is Claire Mercer, her maiden name is Vance, and she grew up in Seattle," Daniel argued fiercely.
Miller shook his head and pulled a printed government document from his briefcase, tossing it onto the bed.
"Claire Vance died of a severe respiratory infection when she was exactly three months old," Miller explained.
Daniel picked up the faded birth and death certificates, staring completely blankly at the impossible paperwork.
"Whoever you married nine years ago effectively stole a dead infant's identity to build a perfect, untraceable life," Miller continued.
Daniel felt his knees go completely weak as the terrifying reality of his nine-year marriage fully set in.
Claire hadn't just been a loving, devoted housewife who finally snapped after discovering his affair.
She was a highly trained, deeply professional grifter who specialized in infiltrating the lives of wealthy, corrupt men.
"She played the long game, waiting until you had access to massive, illicit funds before pulling the trigger," Miller theorized.
Daniel realized that Claire had probably known about his affair with Sabrina for months, perhaps even years.
She had simply used Sabrina as the perfect, highly believable excuse to finally execute her master exit strategy.
"Can you track her current location based on her recent credit card activity?" Daniel begged desperately.
Miller laughed bitterly and started packing his laptop away into his battered leather bag.
"Ghosts don't use credit cards, Daniel, they use the millions of dollars they just stole from you."
Miller demanded his cash payment and quickly left the miserable motel room, clearly wanting no part of the mob heat.
Daniel sat alone on the edge of the sagging mattress, staring deeply into the completely blank television screen.
He had exactly thirty-six hours left to live, and the only person who could save him didn't even legally exist.
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But then, Daniel suddenly remembered a completely fatal flaw in Claire's seemingly perfect, brilliant master plan.
She had stolen his encrypted hard drive, but she didn't know about the secret digital backdoor he had built into the firm's main server.
