23. Tessa
Tessa
Ididn’t realize how loud my heart was beating until the knock came at the door.
Not soft.
Not hesitant.
Direct.
Like this moment had already decided what it was going to be.
“That’s her,” I said, my voice quieter than I expected.
Ace was already moving, but he didn’t rush. He never rushed. He just positioned himself close enough that I could feel him there without him taking over.
“Ready?” he asked.
No.
Not even close.
But I nodded anyway.
Because ready didn’t matter anymore.
I opened the door.
The woman standing there looked exactly like I expected and nothing like I was prepared for. Early forties, sharp eyes, not unkind—but not soft either. The kind of person who didn’t miss things.
“Sarah Whitman,” she said, holding out her hand.
“Tessa,” I replied, shaking it.
Her grip was firm. Steady.
She stepped inside, her gaze sweeping the apartment once, taking everything in. Then it landed on Ace.
“And you are?” she asked.
“Ace Mercer.”
Recognition flickered. “Ranger.”
“Yeah.”
She nodded once, filing that away, then looked back at me.
“You said you had something that changes everything,” she said.
My throat tightened for a second.
Then I stepped aside and gestured toward the table.
“I do.”
We sat.
Her notebook came out immediately. Phone next. Recording already on before she even asked.
“Go ahead,” she said.
No warm-up.
No easing in.
Just truth.
My hands curled together in my lap, but I didn’t look away.
“I didn’t kill Cathy Reynolds,” I said.
The words landed between us.
Heavy.
Final.
Her pen paused.
Then continued.
“According to official records, you confessed to driving under the influence and causing the crash,” she said.
“I did confess,” I said. “But it wasn’t the truth.”
Her eyes lifted to mine.
“Then why say it?”
Because this is where it breaks open.
I swallowed once.
“Because she asked me to.”
Silence.
Not empty.
Focused.
“She was driving,” I continued. “She’d been drinking. More than me. When we went off the road… she was scared. She knew she wasn’t going to make it.”
My chest tightened, but I kept going.
“She made me promise to say I was driving. She didn’t want her parents to know she’d been drinking.”
Sarah didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t soften.
Just listened.
“And you kept that promise,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Even after you were arrested.”
“I told them,” I said quickly. “Not at first—but after. I told the police. I told the lawyer. I told the district attorney that she was driving and that I lied because she asked me to.”
Her pen stilled again.
“And what happened?”
“They said I was changing my story,” I said. “That I was trying to shift blame onto someone who couldn’t defend herself.”
My voice didn’t shake.
Not this time.
“They didn’t believe me.”
“And your family?” she asked.
That one hit.
Harder than I expected.
“My mom didn’t believe me either,” I said.
The words came out flat.
Not emotional.
Not anymore.
“She said I was trying to avoid responsibility. That I’d already confessed.”
Sarah watched me carefully.
“You tried to tell her the truth.”
“Yes.”
“And she chose not to believe it.”
“Yes.”
A pause.
“Have you spoken to her since?”
I shook my head once.
“No.”
“Do you want to?”
That question sat there.
Heavy.
Complicated.
“No,” I said finally. “Not right now.”
And that was the truth.
Not anger.
Not anymore.
Just… distance.
Sarah nodded slowly, like she understood exactly what that meant.
“Alright,” she said. “Show me the footage.”
My heart kicked again.
Even now.
Even after seeing it.
I reached for the phone.
Pressed play.
The room went quiet except for the faint sound of tires on asphalt coming through the speaker.
Headlights.
The road.
Our car.
Then—
Impact.
Sarah leaned forward slightly.
Focused.
Sharp.
The second car.
The angle.
The force.
She rewound it.
Watched it again.
And again.
Then she sat back.
“That’s not a loss-of-control crash,” she said.
“No.”
“That’s a collision.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re in the passenger seat.”
My chest tightened.
“Yes.”
Silence stretched.
Then—
“Who was driving the second car?” she asked.
I hesitated.
Just for a second.
Then—
“Daniel Reynolds.”
The air shifted.
Sarah’s eyes sharpened instantly.
“The sheriff of Gable Ridge County.”
“Yes. He’s also Cathy’s uncle.”
Her pen moved faster now.
“And he was first on scene?”
“Yes.”
“And he filed the report?”
“Yes.”
“And the original footage?”
“Gone.”
“But not completely,” Ace said.
She looked at him.
He turned the laptop toward her, pulling up the still frame, the data Blaze had recovered.
“Partial backup,” he said. “Wiped from official records.”
Sarah leaned in, scanning everything.
“This is big,” she said quietly.
“Yeah,” Ace replied.
“No,” she said, looking back at me. “This is bigger than big.”
My stomach flipped.
“Once this goes out,” she continued, “there’s no controlling it. You understand that, right?”
“I do.”
“They’re going to push back. Hard. They’ll question your credibility. Your confession. Your past.”
“I know.”
Her gaze held mine.
“And they’ll come after you.”
“I know.”
Silence.
Then—
“Alright,” she said, sitting back. “Then we do this right. I’m also a Lawyer, and I am going to be your Lawyer. This makes me want to scream! My God, what were you twenty?”
My heart pounded. “Twenty-two. What are we going to do?”
“We verify everything. Cross-reference the data. Build the timeline. Then we release it all at once.”
“Not pieces?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “Because if we drip it out, they’ll bury it between each release. This way? It hits before they can react.”
That made sense.
Terrifying sense.
“And how long?” I asked.
“Twenty-four hours,” she said. “Maybe less.”
My pulse jumped.
“That fast?”
“They’re already moving,” she said. “Which means we need to move faster.”
As if on cue—
My phone buzzed.
I froze.
Because I already knew.
Slowly, I picked it up.
Unknown number.
I answered anyway.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then—
“Tessa.”
Everything in me went cold.
Daniel.
My grip tightened.
“You need to stop this,” he said.
No greeting.
No pretense.
Just control.
“I’m not stopping anything,” I replied.
“You don’t understand what you’re doing.”
“No,” I said, my voice steady. “I understand exactly what I’m doing.”
A pause.
Then—
“You think this ends well for you?” he asked.
I felt Ace shift beside me.
Closer.
Grounding.
“It already didn’t,” I said. “Six years ago. I spent six years in prison, because I was told no one would believe me.”
His voice hardened.
“You’re making a mistake.”
“No,” I said. “You did.”
Silence cracked on the line.
“You had a chance to walk away quietly,” he said. “Take the settlement.”
“And let you bury it again?” I shot back. “Not happening.”
His tone dropped.
Colder.
“You don’t get to rewrite what happened.”
“I’m not rewriting it,” I said. “I’m telling the truth.”
“That’s not how people are going to see it.”
“Then they can watch the video.”
Another pause.
Longer this time.
Then—
“You’re not as protected as you think,” he said.
There it was.
The threat.
Clear.
Sharp.
Real.
My heart pounded—
But I didn’t back down.
“I’m not alone anymore,” I said.
I meant it.
I felt it.
His silence told me he heard it too.
“This isn’t over,” he said.
“I know,” I replied.
Then I hung up.
My hand trembled slightly as I lowered the phone.
Sarah watched me carefully.
“That him?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“That I should stop.”
Her mouth tightened.
“Good,” she said.
I blinked. “Good?”
“That means he’s worried.”
My pulse was still racing.
“Yeah,” I whispered.
He was.
For the first time—
he was.
I looked down at my hands.
Then back up.
And something inside me settled into place.
Not fear.
Not anymore.
Something stronger.
“Let’s finish this,” I said.
Ace’s gaze met mine.
Steady.
Certain.
And this time—
I didn’t need to be convinced.
I was already there.