My husband invited two women I didn’t know to his 70th birthday. When he placed three envelopes on the table, I realized this wasn’t going to be an ordinary birthday party.
On the morning of my husband’s 70th birthday, I was awakened by a noise coming from the kitchen. It was barely five o’clock.
Normally, Richard never got up before nine, but that morning he was already wearing his white shirt and blue tie. Standing in front of an open kitchen cabinet, he seemed to be searching for something anxiously. As soon as he saw me, he closed the cabinet.
“Why are you awake so early?” I asked him.
“A seventy-year-old man has every right to be a little nervous on his birthday,” he replied with a smile.
But this wasn’t ordinary nervousness. His hands were trembling, and the corner of a white envelope was sticking out of his shirt pocket. I pretended not to notice.
Richard hadn’t wanted to organize a big party. He said he would invite only three people. However, at the last minute, our son called to tell us that he wouldn’t be able to come.
That meant that that evening, it would be just Richard, me, and two women I had never met sitting around the table.
Their names were Helen and Martha.
“They’re old friends,” Richard had explained. “This year, I want to be surrounded by the people who were important in my past.”
Helen arrived first. She had red hair, was wearing a black dress, and had brought a small cake. When I opened the door for her, she stared at me for several seconds.
“You must be Laura,” she said.
I couldn’t understand how she knew my name. When Helen saw Richard, she froze. My husband tried to hug her, but she simply held out her hand.
“Happy birthday.”
“You haven’t changed much,” Richard told her.
“But you’ve changed a lot,” Helen replied coldly.
Martha arrived ten minutes later. She was wearing a blue dress and a beautiful pearl necklace. Richard’s voice trembled as he introduced her to us.
“We’ve known each other since we were young.”
Martha looked first at Helen, then at me.
“I’m happy to finally meet you.”
The word “finally” seemed strange to me, but I didn’t ask any questions.
We sat down around the table. Before we started eating, Richard asked us to take a picture together. In the photo, we were all smiling.
Anyone who looked at it would never have guessed how tense the silence in that room really was.
During dinner, Helen barely touched her food. Martha kept looking at the clock. Meanwhile, Richard repeatedly reached for the envelope hidden in his pocket.
Finally, he raised his glass.
“Today, I’ve decided to free myself from a secret,” he announced. “I don’t want to keep living a lie.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out not one, but three envelopes, then placed them in front of us on the table.
“All three of you have played an important role in my life. But there are certain things you don’t know about one another.”
Helen calmly stood up and closed the living-room door. Martha propped her phone against the water pitcher. A red recording symbol appeared on the screen.
I pulled a thick folder from underneath the table and placed it in front of Richard.
His smile disappeared.
“What is this?”
“Open it and you’ll find out.”
Richard opened the folder.
On the first page was…
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Helen’s marriage certificate, issued in 1979. The next one belonged to Martha and was dated 1996. The third was mine, dated 2008.
Three different cities.
Three different families.
And not a single divorce.
Richard remained silent for a few moments. Then he started laughing.
“So, you found each other.”
“Six months ago,” Helen replied. “I saw your photo in one of Martha’s posts.”
“And you told me that Helen was your deceased sister,” I added.
Martha placed several bank statements on the table. For years, Richard had taken out loans using our names, sold our properties, and transferred the money into foreign bank accounts.
We had spent months gathering evidence.
This dinner wasn’t a birthday party.
We were simply waiting for him to start talking and confirm everything in his own words.
“The documents are already in the hands of the police,” I told him. “The only thing we were still missing was your confession.”
Strangely, Richard remained calm. He picked up his glass and took a sip.
“You really think I knew nothing about your meetings?”
He picked up the envelope that was in front of me.
“Open it.”
Inside were two plane tickets.
The first was in Richard’s name.
The second was in Martha’s name.
Helen and I simultaneously turned toward her.
Martha’s face went pale.
“Were you the one who told him everything?” I asked her.
Richard smiled triumphantly.
“Martha was never on your side. She told me about every one of your meetings. In exchange, I was supposed to return her house to her, and we were going to leave the country together.”
Helen grabbed Martha’s phone.
It wasn’t recording anything at all.
The red symbol displayed on the screen was nothing more than a previously opened photo.
I couldn’t believe it.
Martha had betrayed us.
Richard stood up.
“If you’ll excuse us, we have to leave. Our flight takes off in three hours.”
But Martha didn’t move.
She looked at Richard and slowly removed her pearl necklace.
A tiny camera was hidden inside one of the pearls.
“The fake recording on the phone was meant to deceive you,” she explained. “I knew that as soon as you saw it, you would think you had won—and that you would eventually confess everything.”
Several cars pulled up in front of the house.
A few seconds later, the front door opened and police officers entered.
Richard’s face turned pale.
As they prepared to take him away, one of the officers placed several recently discovered documents on the table.
Helen picked up the first page and stared at the photograph in horror.
Richard’s face was there, but under a different name:
Victor Holden.
The next page contained the death certificate of the real Richard Holden, issued thirty years earlier.
Martha covered her mouth with her hand.
The man standing before us was not Richard.
He was Richard’s twin brother, who, after his brother’s death, had stolen his identity, his assets, and his family.
But the most terrifying discovery was in the final document.
The real Richard had not died in an accident, despite what his death certificate claimed.
An old police report attached to the document listed the name of the prime suspect:
Helen Holden.
I turned toward Helen, but her chair was already empty.
While we were examining the documents, she had climbed out through the window and disappeared, taking Richard’s three envelopes with her.
