Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 115619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
It sits on the desk, taunting me silently, holding …what? My salvation? My death sentence? That's what it would be if it led to Bianca leaving me for good. No less than a death sentence.
It makes me eye the USB, the dread building in me, while I circle the desk. There's no going back from this. Whatever I find here, I can't pretend it doesn't exist. What could it be? What information could it hold? They say the anticipation of death is worse than death itself—I wholeheartedly believe that now.
What if I pretend this never happened? That he never found the report? Pathetic. What am I, a child? Still, there's no shaking the question. What if, what if.
Fuck it. I might as well get it over with.
I insert the drive into the port on my computer, my stomach knotting. Now I'm regretting all the booze since it's now sloshing around in my gut.
On it are the reports taken by detectives who handled the case. Descriptions of the scene—the skid marks on the road, black paint on the car’s white rear bumper that suggested another car forced her into the woods, where she collided with a tree. Partial footprints near the scene, but the ground was already wet and muddy, thanks to rain falling at the time of the crash.
Nobody thought to investigate the paint on the bumper or the footprints? And now I see where Charlie's rage comes from. Why he feels so betrayed. It was his wife, his own fucking wife, in that car. And, according to the statement he gave the investigator, who he probably considered a friend, there was no black paint on the bumper when she took the car that day.
If anyone would have known, it would be Charlie, because it was his car she was driving.
I lean in, squinting, enlarging the print. According to the victim’s husband, the victim drove his car that morning, dropping him off at work while her car was in the shop for an oil change.
“She was driving his car,” I whisper, reading it again. If I wasn't sure before, I'm sure now. The truth can't be unseen, even with all the whiskey in my system.
Whoever did this thought they would find Charlie behind the wheel. They had already done their homework and knew which car to look for, unaware he wasn't the driver. It was a stormy day, probably cloudy and dark, so the falling rain might have made it difficult to identify who was behind the wheel.
“Son of a bitch.” Sinking into my chair, I close my eyes while the world spins out of control around me.
They were after him, because of me. Our involvement. It's a textbook plan. Whoever did this knew he was trying to pin something on me. They wanted him quiet, for good, before he came too close to uncovering anything. Or worse, pinning something on them. I have no solid proof, although it doesn't matter. I know this game. I've seen it enough times.
The problem is, now that I have this information, I’m stuck. What the fuck do I do? Do I tell the truth or pretend I know nothing? Selfishly I realize that it might save my ass, but not in the long run. No matter what, Bianca will be heartbroken and worried for her father, which would mean misery for us. That’s not even mentioning the promise I made to her.
On the other hand, we could just as undoubtedly be miserable if I tell her everything and she decides she can’t look at me another second. Even if she chooses not to end it, why would she want to be with a man who is the living, breathing reminder of the ending to all the good in her life? Her mother may as well be a cautionary tale of what happens when you accidentally brush against a dark web of greed and lies.
Look what happens when you come too close to evil. You don't have to know that evil exists in order for it to close in on you and whisk you away from everyone and everything you love.
It makes sense now—all of it. I understand Charlie more than I’d like to admit right now. I lean back in my chair and stare up at the ceiling. I’ve drank so much today that I shouldn’t even be able to make sense of anything, except nothing can sober you up like the truth.
Before, I was looking through muddy water. However, now I can see clear as day, and it’s astounding. If they could do this to her mother, who’s to say they couldn't do it to Bianca? It’s a terrifying reminder of how dangerous my life is, and how utterly stupid it was to tangle her up in it.
Fuck, no matter what, I need to find out who did this and put them down like the rabid animal they are. It's the only way to balance the scales and protect what's mine, and even if Bianca chooses to walk away, I’ll know at least I did everything possible to protect her. All I can do is hope and pray that I can keep everything together before my entire empire crumbles to the ground.