Chapter 4 - The Camera Above the Door

I waited until Solomon fell asleep.

Not until his breathing slowed.

Not until he rolled onto his side.

Until I was certain.

At one seventeen in the morning, I slipped from bed and carried my phone into the guest bathroom.

I closed the door.

Then I texted Maya.

There is a hidden wireless camera outside the master bedroom. It is connected to our guest network. Solomon appears to know it is there.

Her response came eight minutes later.

Do not remove it. Photograph location. Preserve logs. We need to think about who installed it and what it records.

I wrote:

It is pointed toward the bedroom door.

Maya replied:

That matters.

I stared at those words.

Pointed toward the door.

Not the bed.

Not the interior of the room.

The hallway.

Who entered.

Who left.

When.

The affair came back into focus.

If Jennifer walked into my bedroom, the hidden camera documented it.

Why would Solomon record evidence of his own affair?

Unless the camera was not his.

Unless someone else wanted the evidence.

The next morning, I told Solomon I had an early client call and needed quiet.

He nodded over coffee.

“Take the office.”

“I will.”

Theo ate toast beside us.

Solomon reached for his son’s shoulder.

Theo flinched.

It was small.

Barely visible.

But Solomon saw it.

His hand stopped.

“Theo?”

Theo stared at his plate.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Did Mom say something to you?”

I looked at Solomon.

“Why would you ask that?”

He laughed lightly.

“I’m asking my son why he’s acting weird.”

Theo pushed his plate away.

“I’m not weird.”

“No one said you were.”

“You did.”

Solomon’s face tightened.

I touched Theo’s hand.

“Go get your backpack.”

“Okay.”

When he left, Solomon leaned toward me.

“What have you been telling him?”

“Nothing.”

“He’s avoiding me.”

“Maybe ask yourself why.”

The sentence escaped before I could stop it.

Solomon’s eyes sharpened.

“What does that mean?”

I picked up my coffee.

“It means he’s five. Sometimes five-year-olds are strange before school.”

“You just told him he wasn’t strange.”

“I said he wasn’t weird.”

“That is the same thing.”

“Not to a five-year-old.”

For several seconds, we looked at each other.

Then Theo returned.

The moment ended.

After Solomon left, I took Theo to my father’s instead of school.

He had no fever.

He was not sick.

But I needed him somewhere I could control.

My father opened the door and immediately understood from my face.

“What now?”

“There is a camera in the house.”

He stared at me.

“What kind of camera?”

“Hidden. Wireless.”

“Where?”

“Outside my bedroom.”

My father’s jaw tightened.

“Give me ten minutes.”

“For what?”

“To find my shovel.”

“Dad.”

“I am joking.”

“You are not.”

“No.”

Theo looked between us.

“What shovel?”

My father smiled down at him.

“Gardening.”

Theo accepted that instantly.

I did not.

Maya arrived at my father’s house an hour later.

She brought a laptop, a legal pad, and the expression she wore when she had already found something unpleasant.

We sat at the dining table while Theo watched cartoons in the den.

My father remained standing.

Maya looked at him.

“You are making me nervous.”

“Good.”

“Sit.”

“I own the chair.”

“Then use it.”

He sat.

I almost smiled.

Maya opened the draft transfer agreement Solomon had given my father.

“I found metadata in the PDF.”

“From the fake law firm?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Who created it?”

“The document author field says J. Mercer.”

“Jennifer?”

“Maybe.”

My father frowned.

“Her last name is Mercer?”

I looked at him.

“You know her name?”

He realized his mistake.

My stomach dropped.

“Dad.”

He looked away.

“How do you know Jennifer’s last name?”

Maya closed the laptop slightly.

My father sighed.

“Solomon brought her with him.”

The room went silent.

“When?”

“Three weeks ago.”

“To ask about the house?”

“Yes.”

I stood.

“You told me he came alone.”

“I said he approached me.”

“That is not the same thing.”

“I was trying not to give you conclusions before you had facts.”

“You knew he came to your house with Jennifer?”

“I did not know she was Jennifer.”

“What did he call her?”

“His financial consultant.”

I laughed once.

It sounded ugly.

“Of course he did.”

Maya raised a hand.

“What did Jennifer say?”

My father thought.

“She said transferring the property into an LLC would create flexibility.”

“Those exact words?”

“Close.”

“Did she discuss borrowing?”

“Not directly.”

“Did she mention value?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

My father looked at me.

“She said the house would likely appraise around 1.8 million.”

I felt sick.

She had researched it.

This was not a casual affair intruding into my marriage.

Jennifer had sat in my father’s home and discussed the value of his property while sleeping with my husband in my bed.

Maya reopened the laptop.

“The document metadata creation date was two days before that meeting.”

“So Jennifer made it.”

“Possibly.”

My father leaned forward.

“There is something else.”

I stared at him.

“What?”

“Solomon became angry when I refused.”

“How angry?”

“He said I was keeping you financially dependent on me.”

I laughed again.

“I earn more than he does.”

“I pointed that out.”

“What did he say?”

“He said this was not about income. It was about control.”

Maya looked at me.

“That may be projection.”

I thought of the hidden camera.

The manual overrides.

The guest network.

The black phone.

Charlotte telling Theo to keep secrets.

Control.

Yes.

That word fit everything.

Maya continued.

“I want to bring in someone to inspect your home network and devices, but only within what you legally own and control.”

“Who?”

“A digital forensics consultant named Owen Brooks.”

My father frowned.

“Can he identify who installed the camera?”

“Maybe.”

“Can he recover footage?”

“Maybe.”

“Can he tell me where Solomon is right now?”

“No.”

“Then I am less impressed.”

Maya ignored him.

“Owen can document the system without destroying evidence.”

I nodded.

“When?”

“Today.”

At two fifteen, Owen met me outside my house.

He was in his forties, soft-spoken, and carried a plain gray equipment case.

“You live here?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You administer the network?”

“Yes.”

“You own the smart-home account?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He looked at the front door.

“Then show me what you found.”

Inside, I led him upstairs.

He examined the device above the bedroom door without touching it.

“That is not a smoke detector,” he said.

“I assumed.”

“It is a camera housing disguised as one.”

“Can you tell who installed it?”

“Not by looking.”

“Can you tell what it records?”

“Hallway only from this angle.”

He glanced toward the stairs.

“Anyone coming to or from the master bedroom.”

Exactly.

Owen documented the device, checked the network logs, and then walked slowly through the second floor with a scanner.

He stopped outside Theo’s room.

My stomach tightened.

“What?”

“There’s another transmitter.”

“No.”

He moved toward the hallway linen closet.

Then the guest bedroom.

Finally, he pointed toward a decorative clock on a shelf.

“There.”

I stared at it.

“That clock belonged to Charlotte.”

“When did it come here?”

“Last Christmas.”

Owen looked at me.

“Do you want me to document it?”

“Yes.”

He did.

This camera faced the hallway intersection between Theo’s room and the stairs.

Not Theo’s bed.

Thank God.

But it recorded him leaving his room.

It recorded who led him downstairs.

Who took him out.

Who came back without him.

Owen opened his laptop.

“The device is configured to upload to a cloud account.”

“Whose?”

“I cannot access the account without authorization.”

“But can you identify the service?”

“Yes.”

“Is there any way to know when it uploaded?”

“The network logs will show traffic.”

He pulled up the history.

Dates filled the screen.

The same dates.

Charlotte arrived.

Exterior cameras went dark.

Guest network came online.

Hidden cameras uploaded.

Hours later, guest network off.

Exterior cameras restored.

I stared at the pattern.

“Why disable the cameras outside if they wanted cameras inside?”

Owen looked at me.

“Because they wanted to control what was visible.”

The sentence landed hard.

Not privacy.

Editing.

Hide who arrived.

Record what happened after.

My phone rang.

Solomon.

I answered.

“Hey.”

“Where are you?”

“At home.”

“I thought you had a client call.”

“I finished.”

A pause.

“Is anyone there?”

I looked at Owen.

“No.”

Another pause.

“Why?”

“No reason.”

His voice became lighter.

“I’m grabbing dinner with Mom tonight.”

“Okay.”

“And Jennifer may join us. Work thing.”

Of course.

“Have fun.”

Solomon laughed.

“You’re not jealous?”

“No.”

I meant it.

Jealousy belonged to a marriage I still recognized.

This was something else.

After I hung up, Owen looked at me.

“Was that him?”

“Yes.”

“You lied when he asked if anyone was here.”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

I blinked.

He shrugged.

“I work in digital forensics. I appreciate operational caution.”

For the first time that day, I smiled.

Then he turned the laptop toward me.

“There’s one more thing.”

My smile disappeared.

“What?”

“Someone has been logging into your smart-home account using your credentials.”

I stared at him.

“Solomon?”

“Maybe.”

“From his phone?”

“No.”

“Then from where?”

Owen pointed at the login history.

A device identifier.

A location.

Not our house.

Not Solomon’s office.

A downtown address.

May you like

[COMPLETED] She waited ten years for her fiancé, but the night she marri...

[COMPLETED] Five Years After My Mafia Husband Chose Another Woman, He Me...

[COMPLETED] I CALLED MY HUSBAND 18 TIMES WHILE OUR SON WAS DYING. EIGHT...

I recognized it instantly.

Jennifer’s advertising agency building.