Chapter 15 #2
My breath catches. I open another tab and pull up S&M’s website. I scroll past the glossy product pages to the technical white papers on encryption and secure communications. Government contracts and surveillance tech.
The kind of tech that could make or break a cartel’s entire operation.
My heart speeds up. If S&M Technologies is tied in here, then whatever I thought I knew about this case is only the surface.
I feel a weight settle on my chest. I’m not even close to understanding what I stumbled into.
But one thing is already clear, this case is going to pull me deeper than any textbook ever could.
Before I know it two hours have gone by, its now 12:30.
Fuck if I don’t hurry up I’m going to be late.
I gather all my things and head out the library.
I’m walking down the corridor that leads to the front where I can catch a ride into town when I spot Eryx and Caine.
Eryx is leaning against the wall and Caine is in front of him blocking his view of me.
I start to back track when I backup into a large mass.
Slowly turning around I see its Roman who’s standing behind me.
“Hiding from someone?” he asks nonchalantly.
“Well, I kinda have somewhere to be, and can’t afford any delays,” I tell him.
“Well, don’t let me stop you.”
I turn to walk away when an idea pops in my head. “Hey, Roman, got anything going on right now?” A sly tone in my voice.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“How would you like to see Ro, and maybe steal her away for a few?” I see the shift in his eyes.
Gotcha!
“Black McLaren,” he hands me his keys. “Don’t. Touch. Anything. Get in and wait for me.”
“Bossy much?” a smile on my face.
“Go”
He leaves to say bye to his brother and Caine, and tell them whatever bullshit lie about why he has to go, and I leave unseen towards the garage.
I find his car right away. Everyone here might be loaded, but only one person drives a McLaren W1.
Damn this car is nice. I unlock it and open the door to get in and wait for him.
Maybe five minutes pass by and I get way too antsy.
I go to turn it on when he slips into the driver seat.
“Thought I told you not to touch anything?”
“You were taking too long and I wanted to put on some music.”
He turns it on and it rumbles to life. How can one get turned on from just hearing an engine? Fuck if I know.
“Where we headed?”
“Uh, let me check the address, Ro said its a place called Ophelia’s. Let me pull up the m–”
He cuts me off. “Nah, I know the place,” He looks over to me, “seatbelt, please.”
“Bossy much?” I say snapping the racer seatbelt in place.
“I said please,” We both smile and were off.
We ride in silence for a couple of minutes before I open my mouth unable to take the quiet anymore. But surprisingly he beats me to it.
“You know she’s engaged right?”
Thats catches me off guard.
“Your friend, she’s engaged. But she cries in my arms every night.” He pauses before going on. “I’ve asked her to leave him. I could make everything better for her, yet she stays. Why is that, why do women stay? When it’s so clear she’s unhappy? When it’s so clear I’m the one she wants to be with?”
Wow, hello Mr. I need to declare my love for your best friend.
“You know… on average, it takes a woman 7 attempts to leave an abusive relationship for good. Well, it’s not that easy.
To you, it’s as simple as walking away. Ending one chapter to start a new one with you.
But you need to see it from her point of view.
From what she’s told me, they’ve been together now for the better part of six years, there’s an emotional connection there, not to mention there’s family expectations.
Trauma bonds are hard to break. While all you see are the tears and bruises and the cheating, she sees all the good times.
The good shouldn’t outweigh the bad, but until you’re in it yourself you will never know. ”
“I could get rid of him you know.” A statement not a question or suggestion. He’s thought about this.
“Yes, you could. But she wouldn’t forgive you. This is a decision she needs to make. You can’t make it for her.”
“I love her.”
“I know. Which is why I’m getting out of this car, and you’re waiting out here for her to come out after you call her.”
He parks a few feet back from the door. I get out and head inside to meet Shina. She’s sitting in a corner booth where Ro is oh so quickly slipping out of and heading my way.
“Heading somewhere?” I ask her.
“Uhh,” she stammers on her words a bit. “Just got a call that I got to take real quick.”
“Have fun,” I whisper to her.
“Thank you,” she says back and she’s gone.
With that I take a seat a Shina’s table.
She’s lasered in on her screen just typing away.
Numbers and code and different windows pop up and minimize.
I try to track what she’s doing, but it all looks like a foreign language.
How she’s able to read all of this so quickly and understand it all is beyond me.
I’m thankful to have her helping me out.
I don’t think I’d be able to figure any of this out on my own.
I set my bag down next to me and continue observing how she works, taking it all in.
From what Ro told me, it seems like they might have found something. I’m scared for what that might be.
A waitress stops by our table to get my drink order.
Shina is halfway through her’s so she gets toped off and I order my usual.
Coffee, two sugars, splash of cream, along with a hot pressed sandwich.
I haven’t eaten all day and a girl is starving.
Food might help. Or at least distract me.
I don’t have any twizzlers with me and I can’t keep biting my pen caps.
While I wait for her to return I take in my surroundings.
Ophelia’s is a cute diner. It’s nestled on the corner of Watson and Teller, just a block from the town square.
As I’ve come to find out, it’s where the farmers' market sets up every Sunday. It’s where Caine likes to go to get fresh ingredients.
I’ll have to come with him one of these weekends. Since we're besties and all now.
The diner is a one-story brick building with a hand-painted sign swinging above the door with soft yellow letters against a sage green background, weathered just enough to feel lived-in.
A planter box beneath each window bursts with fresh flowers and trailing ivy, scenting the air when the wind stirs just right. Looking ever like a witch's haven.
Inside, the diner is warm and welcoming, more plants are placed along the walls and some hanging down from above.
The walls are painted an emerald green, but its not too overpowering, adorned with mismatched antique frames holding old black-and-white photographs of the town, pressed herbs, stained glass sun catchers are hanging by the windows casting a kaleidoscope of colors and lights to reflect through.
The floor is checkered tile–my absolute wetdream–and the booths are upholstered in cracked caramel leather with soft cushions tucked at the back.
Every table holds a small glass jar of wildflowers and a laminated menu.
There’s even some tarot cards behind the tip jar at the front.
The scent inside is unmistakable, fresh coffee, pastries and hot sandwiches.
The kitchen is semi-open, separated by a low counter lined with stools, where a few patrons sip their coffee.
At least it’s not too crowded, it’ll give us the privacy we need.
The shelves behind the counter are lined with mason jars, herbs drying from twine, and stacks of cookbooks that look well-used.
There’s a board by the door that reads Coffee for your body.
Tea for your future, Ask Miss Del for a reading.
Tips not required—but highly encouraged.
The soft hum of conversation and classic records spinning low on a turntable in the corner make it a favorite spot for quiet breakfasts and slow Sunday lunches.
I’m glad Ro suggested it, even if she’s not here to enjoy it with me.
Reminds me of the small Spanish diners Thoren and I would visit.
We’s sneak of together and make it a whole day, just trying different food spots or go for ice cream.
Our favorite was La Mesa de Abuela, Ms. Dolores made the best medialunas, and her herbal teas could cure the toughest colds.
I’m sure they could cure a broken soul too.
When the plate is dropped off, I murmur a thank you. Shina shifts in her seat, the movement getting my head back to the present moment. My mind is too busy spinning, every bite of silence between Shina’s keystrokes making the anxiety crawl up my spine.
The clatter of cups and quiet murmur of patrons fades into a dull hum. All I can hear is the click of Shina’s fingers on her keyboard as she rifles through the USB I gave her.
I sip on my cafecito just to keep my hands busy. My heart pounds.
Please let there be something.
Something that makes this make sense.
Shina hasn’t said a word since I sat down. I guess when she’s in the zone, there’s no dragging her out of it.
Finally, she lets out a soft, “Okay… wait.”
I look up, feeling a sliver of hope. “You found something?”
She nods slowly, not taking her eyes off the screen. “There’s a folder tucked deep in a mirrored backup directory. It’s not labeled directly, just a string of numbers. But the metadata says it was created three days before your mom died.”
My pulse stutters.
Shina clicks into the folder. Photo thumbnails load, glitchy and faded, but still legible.
She tilts the screen toward me. “Recognize anyone?”
I stare and my stomach drops.
It’s my mom, laughing, head thrown back, her hair tied up in a messy knot. She’s standing beside Thoren’s father. In one photo, he’s handing her something. In another, he’s touching her arm.
They’re too close.
“Where was this?” I ask, my voice tight.
Shina taps on a file. “Looks like a private residence. Time-stamped. Date is November 13th. Two days before the crash.”
I can barely breathe.
So it wasn’t a one-time thing. I guess deep down I’ve always known, but this just solidified everything. She was with him. I tear my eyes away from the screen, my chest twisting.
Shina clicks into the next file. “There’s more. Someone ran a vehicle inspection log… after the crash.”
I freeze. “What?”
“It’s dated five days after the accident,” she says. “Logged under an S&M Technologies internal system. The file was buried under a dummy vendor invoice. Like someone didn’t want it found.”
She pulls it up.
Inspection Report – Internal Use Only
Vehicle: BMW X7
Registered to: Mateo L. Alvarez.
Date of Crash: November 15, 2019
Filed by: M. Cortez
Condition: Totaled
Notes:
· Brake system found to be unresponsive at time of crash
· Evidence of override in auto-assist firmware
· Rear axle damage inconsistent with reported collision angle
· Possible tampering with electronic control module
I stare at the screen like it might rewrite itself.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I whisper.
Shina’s voice is quiet. “Someone messed with the car, Stassi. This report never made it to law enforcement databases. It was filed internally, then sealed.”
I shake my head. “They ruled it an accident. Said Thoren’s dad lost control of the wheel due to the bad weather.”
“Except this says the brakes didn’t even respond. And the software was interfered with.”
I grip the edge of the table so hard it creaks. “Why would they hide this?”
“Because someone wanted her gone,” Shina says, watching me. “And this? This makes it look intentional.”
My vision blurs.
“They didn’t just die,” I whisper. “They were silenced.”
Shina nods. “And whoever covered this up had access to your dad’s tech company files.”
“Sergio.” I correct her.
I can feel the pressure building behind my eyes. My mom. Thoren’s dad. Gone. And the truth was buried for years under layers of lies, fake reports, and sealed files.
All this time, I thought it was guilt that made Sergio so cold. But now?
Now I’m not so sure.
I force my voice to steady. “I need everything copied. That report. Those pictures. All of it.”
Shina’s already pulling out a portable drive. “Done.”
I nod, fingers curling into fists.
If my mother’s death was staged, if someone rigged that car, then I’ve been mourning a lie for years. And someone is going to answer for it.
My phones buzzes, and my mood lifts.
“Who’s got you smiling? Wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain, broody asshole, would it?”
“Eryx?” I ask, outing myself. “Gross, no.”
“Never, said him. But good to know where your heads at.” She teases me.