SERIES : The Hours the Cameras Went Dark

By five o’clock, I knew two things.

Someone at Solomon’s office had logged into my smart-home account using my credentials.

And whoever did it had done so repeatedly for almost eleven months.

Owen printed the access history.

I stared at the pages.

“Can the location be wrong?”

“It can be approximate,” he said. “But this is consistent.”

“How consistent?”

“Same network block. Same general location. Dozens of sessions.”

“So Jennifer.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“She works there.”

“So does your husband.”

Right.

I had become so focused on Jennifer that I was still giving Solomon a smaller role in his own betrayal.

Owen packed his equipment.

“I’ll send Maya a formal report.”

“Can the cameras stay?”

“Yes.”

“I want them there.”

He looked at me.

“Why?”

“Because whoever installed them thinks I don’t know.”

Owen nodded slowly.

“That can be useful.”

After he left, I called my father.

“Keep Theo overnight.”

“Done.”

“No questions?”

“I have many questions.”

“But?”

“But I am learning restraint.”

“Miracles happen.”

He grunted.

“Do not push your luck.”

At six thirty, Solomon texted.

Dinner with Mom. Back around nine.

At six thirty-two, Charlotte texted me.

Haven’t seen you in forever. We should have lunch this week.

I stared at the message.

The woman had helped hide her son’s affair in my house.

She had told my five-year-old child that speaking the truth could destroy his family.

And now she wanted lunch.

I typed:

Sure. Thursday?

Her response came almost instantly.

Perfect.

I forwarded the exchange to Maya.

She called me.

“You are not confronting her.”

“No.”

“You are not threatening her.”

“No.”

“You are not telling her you know about Jennifer.”

“No.”

Maya was quiet.

“I don’t like how calm you sound.”

“Everyone keeps saying that.”

“Because calm people are either in control or planning arson.”

“I don’t own matches.”

“You own a gas stove.”

I laughed despite myself.

Then she became serious.

“I reviewed Owen’s report.”

“And?”

“The account logins matter.”

“Can we prove who used them?”

“Not yet.”

“What about the fake law firm document?”

“I found something.”

I sat down.

“What?”

“The dissolved firm name was used on three other PDFs indexed in a public court filing from a business dispute last year.”

“Who filed them?”

“A company called Northline Creative Holdings.”

I frowned.

“Never heard of it.”

“Neither had I.”

“Who owns it?”

“That part is interesting.”

“Maya.”

“Jennifer Mercer.”

I went still.

“So she made the document.”

“Or someone at her company did.”

“What is Northline?”

“According to filings, a consulting entity.”

“Consulting for what?”

“Marketing acquisitions.”

“That sounds vague.”

“It is.”

I thought of the message.

Your mother is making this complicated. She wants an answer about the house before next week.

“What does Charlotte have to do with Northline?”

“I don’t know.”

“What does Solomon?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can we find out?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Patience.”

“I hate patience.”

“I know.”

At seven fifteen, I made a decision Maya did not love.

I drove downtown.

Not to confront anyone.

Not to enter Solomon’s office.

I parked across the street from the advertising agency and waited.

If Solomon said he was having dinner with Charlotte and Jennifer, I wanted to know whether that was true.

At seven forty-two, Solomon came out.

Jennifer was beside him.

I recognized her immediately.

Tall.

Dark coat.

Blonde hair pulled into a low knot.

I had met her twice at agency events.

She had shaken my hand.

She had complimented my dress.

Once, she had crouched beside Theo and asked whether he wanted to be a pilot when he grew up.

My stomach turned.

Solomon and Jennifer did not touch as they crossed the sidewalk.

They did not need to.

Their bodies moved with the unconscious synchronization of people accustomed to being together.

They entered a black sedan.

I waited.

Then followed at a distance.

They did not go to a restaurant.

They drove fifteen minutes to a parking garage attached to a luxury condominium tower.

I parked on the street.

Solomon and Jennifer disappeared inside.

Charlotte was nowhere in sight.

At eight eleven, my phone buzzed.

Charlotte.

Tell Solomon I said he left his scarf at my place.

I stared at the message.

She was establishing an alibi.

Not just for him.

For herself.

I typed:

Will do.

Then I took photographs of the building entrance and the time displayed on my dashboard.

At eight twenty, Maya called.

“Where are you?”

“Downtown.”

She exhaled slowly.

“I am going to regret asking.”

“I followed Solomon.”

“Of course you did.”

“He and Jennifer entered a condo tower.”

“Do not go inside.”

“I’m not.”

“Do not approach them.”

“I won’t.”

“Do not—”

“Maya.”

“What?”

“Charlotte just sent me an alibi message.”

Silence.

“What exactly?”

I read it.

Maya became quiet.

“That is useful.”

“I know.”

“Screenshot it.”

“Already did.”

“You are terrifying.”

“Also useful.”

At eight fifty-six, Solomon and Jennifer emerged from the building.

This time they were arguing.

I could not hear the words from across the street.

But I could see Jennifer’s hands moving sharply.

Solomon kept glancing around.

Then Jennifer pointed at his chest.

He grabbed her wrist.

She ripped it away.

I raised my phone and recorded from inside my car.

No audio.

But the body language was unmistakable.

Finally, Jennifer said something that made Solomon step backward.

She walked away from him.

He followed.

She turned again.

Then pointed toward the building.

Solomon looked furious.

A minute later, they got into the sedan and drove away.

I stayed parked.

Something had changed.

Jennifer’s message that morning had already sounded impatient.

I told you I’m not doing another year of this unless you fix it.

Now they were fighting.

The affair was no longer stable.

That meant someone might make a mistake.

At nine forty, Solomon returned home.

He found me on the couch reading.

“How was dinner?” I asked.

“Fine.”

“Your mom okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Jennifer?”

He paused.

“What about her?”

“You said she might join you.”

“Oh.”

He smiled.

“She couldn’t make it.”

I looked directly at him.

“That’s too bad.”

“Work emergency.”

“Those happen.”

He took off his jacket.

“Where’s Theo?”

“Dad’s.”

“Again?”

“He wanted a sleepover.”

Solomon frowned.

“He has school tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“He needs routine.”

I almost laughed.

The man who had turned our home into a secret schedule of camera outages was lecturing me about routine.

“He’ll be fine.”

Solomon walked toward the stairs.

Then stopped.

“Did you go anywhere tonight?”

I looked up from the book.

“Why?”

“Your car was warm when I came in.”

My heartbeat kicked once.

I shrugged.

“Grocery store.”

“At nine thirty?”

“I wanted ice cream.”

He stared at me.

“Did you get any?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Changed my mind.”

For several seconds, neither of us moved.

Then Solomon smiled.

“Okay.”

He went upstairs.

I waited five minutes.

Then checked the guest-network logs.

The hidden hallway camera had uploaded data at nine forty-two.

The moment Solomon walked through the front door.

Someone wanted a record of his arrival.

Someone was building a timeline.

I opened the log history and compared it to the previous outages.

Then I noticed something I had missed.

On several nights, the hidden cameras uploaded after Jennifer left.

But before Solomon restored the exterior feeds.

That meant the person receiving the hidden footage could see Jennifer inside the house even when the official exterior cameras showed nothing.

The hidden camera was not protecting Solomon.

It was documenting him.

I stayed in the dark living room for another twenty minutes and compared the dates of the hidden-camera uploads with my calendar.

A pattern appeared that had nothing to do with illness alone.

Three outages matched client dinners I had attended. Two matched late quarterly meetings. One matched the night my father had taken me to a concert for my birthday.

Every one of those dates had been known in advance.

Solomon had not been improvising opportunities with Jennifer.

Someone had been scheduling around my absence.

Then I noticed the reverse pattern.

On nights when I canceled plans unexpectedly, the guest network never came online. Charlotte sometimes still visited, but the exterior cameras stayed active.

That told me the system was not merely habit.

They were checking whether the conditions were safe before they acted.

I opened my calendar one final time and looked at the next day.

Client lunch. Noon. Downtown.

Solomon knew about it.

Charlotte probably did too.

And now an unknown person was telling me to meet Jennifer at twelve thirty.

For the first time, I wondered whether the meeting itself was another scheduled condition in someone else’s plan.

I called Maya.

She answered sleepily.

“This better be good.”

“I think someone is collecting evidence against Solomon.”