Chapter 57 - The Husband I Buried

Then

Luis

I met him just before dusk, in a park with chain-link fences and bleachers that had been painted and repainted until the original color no longer mattered. He sat on the lowest bench, hands folded over his knees.

‘Should’ve brought a baseball glove,’ he joked, clapping me on the back.

I laughed, wondering how things might’ve turned out if I’d grown up knowing Silas was my dad. When he first told me, I hadn’t believed it. It was my mom’s reaction when I confronted her that told me it was true.

‘No, really,’ he said, gesturing for me to sit next to him. ‘I missed out on taking you to games, eating hot dogs.’

‘I could go for a hot dog,’ I said, smiling. The man I had thought was my father, Branston Tyndale, wasn’t the type of dad who took his son to baseball games. He never had the time, nor the inclination.

Silas laughed, the sound rough and surprised, like he was out of practice. ‘Yeah? Thought you were watching what you eat.’

‘I am,’ I said. ‘I’m watching myself starve.’

He shook his head, reached into his pocket, and stood. ‘Sit tight. I know a great stand.’

‘OK,’ I said. ‘Want me to come with—’

His eyes softened, regret flickering there again. ‘Let me do this,’ he said. ‘I missed a lot. I can manage a hot dog.’

‘Can you?’ I joked. He’d told me about some condition he had that had caused him to lose both his top and bottom sets of teeth. He had a full set of dentures. Unfortunately, it was genetic. Fortunately, I hadn’t inherited it.

He smiled wryly. ‘A bun and some soft meat? I think I can handle it,’ he said.

I tossed him my car keys, knowing he probably walked here. ‘Take my car,’ I said.

He caught the keys and gave a nod.

My phone buzzed – another message, another reminder that time was running out. The deals were messy. Too aggressive. We’d moved too fast, squeezed too hard. Bought out competitors who hadn’t wanted to sell. On paper, everything looked legitimate. Behind the scenes, it was a different story. Bribes had changed hands. Contracts had been forged. Records had been altered to hide where the money was really going.

People were asking questions. And at home, things were unraveling. Mackenzie had been watching me lately. Not accusing. Just quiet. Assessing. Like she was building a case in her head that she hadn’t decided whether to file yet.

I should’ve known she’d figure it out. She was sharp. It’s one of the first things I noticed about her. That first day I saw her in the courthouse, I couldn’t keep walking. So, I said the only thing I could think of, an excuse to break her stride.

She had been on a mission. About to defend a man most people had already decided was guilty – the kind of case no one wanted their name attached to.

One of ours.

She didn’t know that. What she knew was that the state was reaching. That the narrative didn’t hold up. That the man standing beside her didn’t look like someone who’d snapped – he looked like someone who’d been cornered.

She walked like the clock was chasing her, coffee in one hand, notes in the other, already rehearsing arguments in her head. Focused. Precise. Beautiful.

I watched her dismantle the prosecution, holding the entire room captive. Not theatrically, but methodically, one argument at a time. She didn’t charm the judge, though she easily could have. She cornered him with his own precedents. She used his history against him. Made it easier for the jury to rule in her favor than to fight her; but she wasn’t aggressive. She showed him she understood his methods, his way of thinking about the law. When it was over, she didn’t look relieved. She looked satisfied.

That’s when I knew. Not just that she was good – but that she was dangerous in the right hands. She was brilliant. She believed in the system just enough to bend it. And she hadn’t once glanced at the man she was saving to ask whether he deserved it.

I couldn’t let her walk out of there without saying something.

When she turned, irritation flashing briefly across her face before she masked it, I felt it all lock into place. This wasn’t a chance meeting. This was the beginning of something I hadn’t known I was looking for, and once I saw her, I wasn’t going to let her pass me by.

The question now was how much did she know, and how much was she guessing?

I looked at my phone. Twenty minutes had passed and Silas hadn’t returned. I didn’t message him in case he had unexpected business that came up. It was an unspoken rule at the Coterie Institute. Minimize your trail.

I walked to the edge of the field, and saw it in the distance. Smoke. Sirens. Someone holding a blanket.

I didn’t need to get closer to know.

I already knew.

The car – my car – was burning. Firefighters were trying to control the blaze, but the fire had hit the gas tank, and the car was already shelled out.

And they would look at the registration in my wallet, which was still in the glove compartment. They would see my name.

They would assume it was me inside the car.

I stood there, the weight of it settling slowly, inevitably.

A death no one would question too hard. A body no one would look at closely. A life that could be mistaken for mine.

I thought of the meetings. The contracts. The eyes on my back, waiting for the right moment to strike. I thought of Mackenzie’s silence. The way it had felt heavier than shouting.

She’d made her choice before I made mine.

*

I did what I’d always done best: I adapted.

I let the story form around me. I stepped back.

And when the moment came, I let the world believe I was gone.

Not because I was innocent, but because disappearing was cleaner than a defense. And because sometimes, when someone shows you they’re willing to destroy you, you make sure they never get the chance to try again.

I turned and walked in the opposite direction, not toward home, but toward the Institute.