One week before the apartment sale, my father-in-law told me: «While your husband is away, take a hammer and smash the tile behind the toilet in the bathroom!»…

One week before the apartment sale, her father-in-law told Emily, while her husband wasn’t around, to take a hammer and smash the tile behind the toilet in the bathroom. Emily was shocked—why ruin the renovation? He sternly replied that her husband was deceiving her, and the truth was there. With difficulty, she chipped off a piece of tile. What she saw in the wall behind it made her silently sink to the floor.

But before that moment, before the ground slipped out from under her feet, there was still a whole week of ordinary, planned life. Or at least that’s how it seemed to her. It all started on Wednesday.

David, her husband, had been on a business trip for two days already. He had gone to a neighboring state, supposedly to close an important contract for his firm. Lately, things hadn’t been going well for him, and this trip, according to him, was supposed to fix everything.

Emily was left alone in their three-bedroom apartment, which they were preparing for sale. There was only a week left until the deal. The apartment sparkled.

The renovation they had finished just six months ago was her pride. She had personally chosen every detail—the shade of the laminate, the texture of the wallpaper, the light fixtures in the hallway. David had initially brushed it off, saying it was all women’s nonsense, but when he saw the result, he walked through the rooms with an important air, talking nonsense, and told guests that he had come up with it all.

Emily didn’t argue. The main thing was that they both liked it. She loved this apartment, every corner of it.

It was a pity to sell it, but they had decided to invest in a suburban house. A new life, a new stage. That day, Emily was doing her usual chores.

She wiped the dust from the furniture that hadn’t yet been covered with plastic, watered the flowers on the windowsill. The apartment was quiet, broken only by the hum of the refrigerator and the noise of cars outside. The phone call from David that morning was short and businesslike.

Everything’s fine, lots of meetings, no time to talk. Kisses. She was used to his busyness.

David had always been like that—energetic, always rushing somewhere, living for future successes. Around lunchtime, the doorbell rang. Emily was surprised.

She wasn’t expecting anyone. On the doorstep stood her father-in-law, Michael. It was strange.

Michael was a withdrawn, taciturn man. After his wife’s death, he had completely retreated into himself and rarely left his old apartment on the other side of the city. He never came without warning.

He looked as usual—gray hair, deep wrinkles on his face, an old but clean jacket. But something in his gaze was off. Some heavy, uncharacteristic determination.

«Hello, Emily!» he said, not crossing the threshold. His voice was hoarse, muffled. «Michael, hello.

Come in. Has something happened? Is David okay?» Her heart skipped a beat. The first thought was bad news about her husband.

«David’s fine!» her father-in-law said with some bitter smirk, which made Emily even more uneasy. He entered the hallway and closed the door behind him. He looked around the clean, bright apartment, lingering on the new front door they had installed a month ago.

«I came alone,» he said, as if answering her unspoken question. «David’s not here. He’s in the city?» «No, he’s on a business trip.

He should be back Friday evening.» Michael nodded, as if expecting exactly that answer. He silently walked to the kitchen.

Emily followed him, feeling anxiety building. He didn’t sit at the table as he usually did. He stood in the middle of the kitchen, hands in his jacket pockets.

Then he pulled out his right hand. In it was a hammer, an ordinary carpenter’s hammer with a wooden handle, old, with worn edges. Emily froze, staring at the hammer in his hand.

«I need you to do something,» he said quietly but firmly. «While he’s gone.» «What, what to do?» she whispered.

«Come on.» He led her to the bathroom. The bathroom was her special pride.

Perfectly even beige tile, a new acrylic bathtub, shiny chrome faucets. David had insisted on expensive Italian tile, and they had argued with the contractor for three days to lay it without a single flaw. Michael stopped at the toilet and pointed the hammer at the wall behind it.

«This tile,» he said. «Needs to be smashed.» Emily looked from him to the perfect glossy surface of the tile.

She thought she had misheard. «What? Why?» «Michael, are you out of your mind? We just finished the renovation.» «David will kill me.»

He hunted all over the city for that tile. «I’m in my right mind, Emily.» «But you’re living in deception.

Your husband is deceiving you.» «The truth is there?» He jabbed the hammer at the wall again. His face was stern, stone-like.

No trace of doubt. Emily stepped back. Thoughts swirled in her head.

«Maybe the old man has something wrong with his head?» «Age, grief after his wife’s death. I’m not doing this,» she said firmly. «This is madness.

You’re damaging our property. Let me make you some tea instead, you’ll calm down. No time for tea,» he cut her off.

«Property?» «Soon you won’t have any property left. Neither this nor the other.» He handed her the hammer.

«Do it. Or I’ll do it myself. But it’s better if you do it.»

She looked into his tired, faded eyes and saw such pain and such certainty that her own resolve began to melt. Something was really happening. Something terrible that she didn’t know.

She had known Michael for many years. He wasn’t capable of stupid, mean jokes. But what could be there? Her voice trembled.

«There’s a wall there. A load-bearing wall. There’s a hiding place,» he answered simply.

David thinks I know nothing. But I saw. I came by accidentally when he was finishing up in there.

Thought he was laying tile. But he was removing bricks. Saw me, got flustered, said he was checking the wiring.

But I saw him hiding something. His words sounded horrifyingly convincing. Emily took the hammer.

It was heavy and cold. Her hands wouldn’t obey. The thought of David’s anger paralyzed her.

She imagined his face, twisted with rage. He was so proud of this renovation. This bathroom.

He called it «our little Versailles.» Smashing this tile was like spitting on his soul. «I can’t,» she whispered, ready to cry.

«You can,» her father-in-law replied sternly. «Think about yourself, Emily. For once.»

Not about him. And this simple plea worked. She always thought about him.

About his comfort, his career, his mood. She smoothed the rough edges in their relationship, forgave small offenses, supported all his endeavors. And about herself? She closed her eyes and, swinging, struck the tile.

The sound was deafening. Shards flew everywhere. When she opened her eyes, an ugly hole with ragged edges gaped on the perfect surface.

Her heart pounded in her throat. That’s it, no turning back. She struck again, and again.

The tile crumbled, exposing the layer of cement. Michael watched silently, standing by the door. Emily worked with the hammer and the edge of a chisel he handed her, chipping off piece by piece.

Her fingers ached, her breathing ragged. And there, under the layer of mortar. She saw it.

A brick. It differed from the others; there was no hardened cement around the edges. It had been inserted into the niche later.

She pried it with the chisel. The brick gave way and fell into her hands. Behind it was black emptiness.

Emily dropped to her knees, peered inside. Deep in the wall lay a black zippered waterproof bag. Like the ones used to store documents on hikes.

She reached into the cold, dusty niche and pulled it out. The bag was heavy. «Go to the room,» said Michael.

«Not here.» She obediently stood and, clutching the bag to her chest, went to the living room. Sat on the couch.

Her hands shook so much she couldn’t unzip it right away. Her father-in-law sat in the armchair opposite, silent and grim. Finally, the zipper gave way.

The first thing she saw was money. A thick stack of hundred-dollar bills, bound with a rubber band. A lot of money.

Emily didn’t know exactly how much, but the amount was huge. Maybe half a million, maybe more. First thought—it was a stash.

For a rainy day. David just didn’t want to tell her, so as not to worry her. A stupid, naive thought that died as soon as she saw what lay under the money.

There were documents. A folded sheet. She unfolded it.

A power of attorney. Official form, stamp, notary’s signature. She scanned the text.

«I, Emily Carter, authorize citizen David Thompson to sell my share in the apartment, with the right to receive all monetary funds due to me.» And at the bottom—her signature. A perfect, exact copy of her signature.

Which she had never put there. It was a forgery. A general power of attorney that sidelined her from the deal and deprived her of all the money from the sale of their joint apartment.

Her breath caught. Her head spun. But that wasn’t all…