By the end of the third week, her small pile of cash was dwindling at a terrifying speed that left her stomach in constant knots. She lived on packets of instant noodles and washed her few items of clothing in the motel sink, hanging them over the shower rod to dry.
She tried calling Toby’s school every single day from different borrowed numbers, but the administration always gave her the same cold response. Wesley had provided the school with a legal injunction claiming that Cassie was mentally unstable and should not be allowed to speak to the boy until a formal evaluation was completed.
One Tuesday evening, as a violent thunderstorm rattled the loose window frames of her motel room, her cheap phone began to vibrate on the bedside table. The caller ID showed a long string of numbers that indicated the call was originating from somewhere deep within Europe.
She initially ignored it, assuming it was a telemarketer or another one of Wesley’s associates trying to harass her into signing more waivers. However, the phone rang a second time, and then a third, until her curiosity finally overrode her exhaustion.
“Am I speaking with Mrs. Cassandra Miller, formerly known as Cassandra Fischer?” an elegant male voice asked with a distinct, sophisticated accent. Cassie sat up straight on the lumpy mattress and gripped the phone tighter against her ear.
“This is Cassie, but if you are trying to sell me something, I really don’t have the money or the patience for it right now,” she replied bluntly. “My name is Hans Schmidt, and I am calling you from a private wealth management firm based in Zurich,” the man explained calmly.
He told her that his office had been attempting to locate her for several months but had been repeatedly blocked by the staff at the Rhodes estate. “Every piece of legal correspondence we sent to your home in Philadelphia was intercepted and destroyed by Mr. Rhodes’ personal assistants,” Hans revealed.
Cassie felt a cold shiver run down her spine as the realization of Wesley’s betrayal reached a new, darker level. “What could you possibly have to send me that would be important enough for Wesley to commit mail fraud?” Cassie asked, her voice barely a whisper.