You Deserve to Know

Chapter 29

29

NOW

“Blackmail him?” Aimee searches Jon Block’s face for a sign that this might be a joke. But he’s not smiling, just glaring at her. “I don’t believe you.”

Block stands up and glances at his watch. “Time’s up. I have to go.”

“No, no way. You’re not leaving until you explain what you mean. You expect me to believe someone was blackmailing Scott?” She shakes her head. It’s ludicrous. Blackmail. For what? Her Scott, who won’t even make an illegal U-turn. Who’s dedicated his life to creating software that will help diabetics because his mother died of the disease. It doesn’t add up. “You need to tell me why. What did he do?”

“I don’t need to tell you anything,” Block huffs as he grabs his jacket from the back of his chair and puts it on. “You’re not my client. Now, do I feel sorry for you? Yeah, you’re in the dark, but it’s not my problem you don’t know what’s going on in your husband’s life. If you’ll excuse me, I have to be somewhere.”

As he comes out from behind his desk, Aimee grabs his arm before she realizes what she’s doing. “Please. My husband could be in danger. If you know anything that could help find him, you have to tell me.”

Block stares at her hand as she slowly removes it. He’s a big guy—he’s got half a foot and about sixty pounds on her.

“Look, maybe he is in danger, but remember Occam’s razor.” He has a smug look on his face, like the kid in the class who has all the answers.

“Excuse me?” Aimee asks.

“When there are competing theories, the simplest one is most likely to be true.”

“I know what Occam’s razor is,” she says, “but what do you mean? What’s the simplest theory?”

“The pressure was too much and he left.” He offers her a wry smile. “It’s much more likely that he left of his own volition.”

“I don’t believe that.” Aimee shakes her head. “Scott would never leave us. We have three kids.”

“You think husbands don’t walk away from their wives and kids every damn day? Believe me, I see it all the time. Throw in the kind of pressures he was under—if you ask me, it’s the most likely scenario.”

I didn’t ask you , she wants to snap. But she did ask.

“You have to tell me what this is all about. I need to know.”

“I really can’t.” He holds up his hands in exasperation.

“I’ll go to the police. I’ll send them straight to your doorstep.”

“Suit yourself. It’s all confidential without a court order.” He lets out a long sigh. “Look, to be honest, going to the police is not a bad idea. Same thing I told your husband to do from the beginning, but he refused. But remember, some things are a secret for a reason.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re going to open Pandora’s box with this,” he says. “Once the truth is out, you won’t be able to unknow it.”

“You don’t get it. I want the truth.”

He shakes his head. “It never ceases to amaze me. People can be married and sleep together in the same bed for decades and have no idea who the other person is.”

His words sting her. She knows who Scott is. “Please,” she tries one last time. “If you won’t tell me why he was being blackmailed, can you at least tell me if you know who was doing it?”

“I can tell you that he was contacted over the past few months by someone demanding money.”

“And did you learn anything about who was contacting him?”

Block looks down at his hands, adjusting a fat gold ring on his right pinky. “Whoever it was, they communicated with your husband via WhatsApp. It’s encrypted, so it is practically impossible to trace.” He looks up at her, his eyes sparkling. “But the initial contact, the one in which the blackmailer sent instructions on how they would communicate, that’s a different story. That was sent in an email.” He grins, clearly proud of himself. “And that I was able to trace.”

“And? Whose email was it?” Her pulse quickens.

“It was a dummy account. Wasn’t used before or after. Probably created just for that purpose.”

Aimee feels her shoulders slump. This is what her dad called a shaggy dog story, all build-up and no payoff. “So you have no idea who sent it.”

“No, I have no idea who sent it.” He shakes his head, but his grin only widens. “But I do have an idea from where it was sent. Whoever wrote the email was not very careful on that front.”

“Okay, and where was it sent from?”

“A library,” Block says. “On the campus of American University.”