Chương 4
Della frowned.
“What sale?”
“BrightLine has been trying to attract investors.”
She looked at the documents.
“So they delayed repairs to make the company look better.”
“I don’t know everything.”
“But you know enough.”
“Yes.”
Tom’s voice cracked slightly.
“And I should have said something sooner.”
Della did not answer.
She wanted to forgive him.
She also wanted him to feel what she had felt standing alone in that office.
Both feelings existed at the same time.
That was the part nobody warned people about.
Sometimes someone could be sorry and still have hurt you.
“I need the records,” she said.
Tom was quiet.
“What records?”
“The maintenance requests.”
“Della.”
“The original ones.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain.”
“They are protected.”
“By who?”
“The company.”
She almost laughed.
“Of course they are.”
Tom lowered his voice.
“If I give them to you, I could lose everything.”
Della looked around her apartment.
At the small table where Rosie did homework.
At the cabinet where Caleb’s old coffee mug still sat because she could never convince herself to throw it away.
“I know something about losing everything.”
The silence afterward was painful.
Tom did not argue.
“Give me until tomorrow,” he said.
Della wanted to say no.
She wanted certainty.
Proof.
Something solid.
But life rarely gave people that.
“Tomorrow morning,” she said.
After the call ended, she sat in the dark for a long time.
The apartment lights remained off.
Outside, cars passed through the street behind the laundromat.
People were going home.
People were ordering food.
People were worrying about ordinary things.
Della missed ordinary things.
She missed caring about a broken faucet.
She missed complaining about Caleb leaving his boots by the door.
She missed being annoyed by problems that did not involve corporations and hidden reports.
Her phone buzzed again.
This time it was Rodrick.
She answered.
“I know about Tom,” he said.
Della immediately became alert.
“How?”
“He contacted one of my investigators.”
“That was fast.”
“It was not difficult.”
She frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“It means Tom was already trying to confess.”
Della looked toward the window.
“Everyone has a reason after the damage is done.”
Rodrick was quiet.
“You don’t trust him.”
“No.”
“Do you trust anyone?”
The question irritated her because she did not know the answer.
“That is not relevant.”
“It is.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“It is if you are going to challenge people who have more resources than you.”
Della gripped the phone.
“I survived before I met you.”
“I know.”
The answer was immediate.
It stopped her.
Rodrick continued.
“That does not mean you have to do everything alone.”
Della sat down.
She hated that the sentence sounded reasonable.
She hated that part of her wanted to believe it.
“What did your investigator find?”
Rodrick paused.
“Something concerning.”
“That is a very careful way to say something.”
“It is because I don’t know enough yet.”
Della appreciated that.
More than she wanted to admit.
“What?”
“A maintenance contractor was removed from the bridge project two weeks before the accident.”
“Why?”
“Safety complaints.”
“Who replaced them?”
Rodrick did not answer immediately.
Della noticed.
“Rodrick.”
“BrightLine’s preferred contractor.”
“Who owns it?”
Another pause.
“An investment group connected to one of BrightLine’s board members.”
Della stared at the floor.
The accident was becoming larger.
That frightened her more than if it had stayed simple.
Simple problems could be fought.
Large ones swallowed people.
“I need you to be careful,” Rodrick said.
She almost smiled.
“Are you telling me that?”
“Yes.”
“You realize I’m the person who crawled into a wrecked limousine.”
“I am aware.”
“Then you know careful is not exactly my strongest skill.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Rodrick said something she did not expect.
“My grandmother said the same thing.”
Della laughed quietly.
A real laugh.
Small.
Unexpected.
It disappeared quickly.
But Rodrick noticed.
“I’ll call you when I have more.”
“Okay.”
After they hung up, Della checked the time.
Almost midnight.
She walked to Rosie’s room.
The little girl was asleep with one hand wrapped around the stuffed rabbit.
The missing ear had been repaired with uneven stitches.
Della had fixed it three times.
Every time, the repair looked different.
She sat beside the bed.
For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine a different life.
A life where Caleb came home.
A life where she worked normal hours.
A life where her biggest concern was whether Rosie finished her homework.
Then she heard the faint sound of her phone vibrating again.
Not a call.
A message.
Unknown number.
One sentence.
Stop looking into the bridge accident.
Della stared at the screen.
A second message appeared.
The next person you try to save might not survive.
Della stared at the screen until the letters blurred slightly.
She did not feel afraid at first.
She felt tired.
Fear required energy, and she had spent most of hers fighting things she could see.
Bills.
Work.
Grief.
Exhaustion.
This was different.
This was someone reaching into the quietest part of her life and reminding her that even doing the right thing could make her a target.
She walked to the kitchen and turned on the light.
The sudden brightness made her squint.
On the counter sat the small stack of unopened mail she had been avoiding.
A water bill.
A medical statement from Caleb’s final hospital visit.
A coupon for a restaurant that had closed two years ago.
Life kept leaving evidence behind.
Not everything that remained mattered.
She picked up the phone and took a screenshot of the message.
Then she sent it to Rodrick.
His reply came faster than she expected.
Do not respond.
Della frowned.
She typed back.
I wasn’t planning to.
Another message appeared.
Good.
Then:
I’m sending someone to your building.
She stared at the words.
No.
She typed the response before thinking.
Do not send anyone.
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then returned.
You received a threat.
I know.
May you like
You are alone.
I have security.
