by T. K. Leigh
“I’ve been looking through the reports from that night,” the man said.
“You need to stop torturing yourself like this. What good could rehashing that tragic day do?”
“Because nothing about it seems right,” the man retorted, then lowered his voice even more. “With all the shit she had been doing… It’s just a bit suspicious. Cynthia…” He trailed off with a quiver, then recovered. “She had so much to live for. She wasn’t suicidal. She wasn’t depressed. Given the circumstances, she’d remained surprisingly positive…a lot more positive than most people would be in her situation. I just can’t believe she would have taken her own life, not when she was willing to put that life on the line to do what she believed was right.”
My heart seemed to echo in my ears as I leaned closer, glued to this man’s every word. Recalling the background check I found at Brock’s, I realized this man must have been talking about Cynthia Edelman and the night she died. This had to be her ex-husband, Brian, father of her two teenage girls, all of whom she left behind when she allegedly committed suicide. But after overhearing that phone call in Italy and going through the files in Brock’s office, I had a feeling it wasn’t a suicide at all.
“Brian,” my father sighed. “I didn’t want to believe it at first, either. But the medical examiner and the crime scene techs found absolutely no evidence of foul play, no evidence anyone else was in that room. Apart from her own, no fingerprints were found on the gun she used, the gun she just so happened to have bought the previous day. The security cameras also didn’t pick up anyone going near her office around that time. I know how it looks, given what she was involved in. Her death was shocking, but I assure you, it was by her own hand, no one else’s.”
There was a brief pause before either man spoke again. “When I met her for coffee that morning to discuss how much longer she thought it necessary for the girls to stay with me, never did I think it would be the last time I’d see her,” Brian stated, his tone even, flat, lacking any emotion. “I was so broken up at the time that I didn’t question anything. In the back of my mind, I feared this day would come, especially when she said she was planning to come forward with whatever she found out. But now that nearly six months have passed, I can’t help but wonder if you’re lying to me.”
I knew he was lying, especially after finding those surveillance photos of my father walking into Barnes Pharmaceuticals mere minutes before Cynthia had taken her life. It was possible there could be another explanation, but my father had never given me a single reason to trust him. I wasn’t about to start now.
“I have no reason to lie to you, Brian,” my father replied evenly. “I cared about Cynthia, too. Her death hit me hard.”
I struggled not to laugh at his words. It hit him hard all right. Hard enough that he’d want to cover up his involvement in it. I didn’t know how he did it, but not one single security camera in the building picked up on my father entering that evening. But someone did…the same man who took the photo of my father rushing through the front doors just after eight that evening, then another of him leaving approximately twenty minutes later. The same photos Brock had in his desk. If it weren’t for those, I wouldn’t have known he’d even been there. No one would. Who took them? Why did Brock have them? Why hadn’t he gone to the police with this? And who’s side was he on?
“It didn’t seem that way,” Brian remarked.
“You were a wreck, Brian. Someone needed to step in and get things done.”
“And you figured, because of your past with Cynthia, that man should be you?” He paused, then continued. “She told me everything about—”
“I had a feeling she would at some point,” my father interrupted with a heavy sigh. “It was only a matter of time until it came up.”
I strained to hear better, wondering what his past with Cynthia entailed. How long had they known each other?
“The reason she did what she did all those years ago was because of you, so people wouldn’t realize you weren’t this golden boy, this beacon of morality who was going to clean up dirty politics. But I know the truth. You’re just like everyone else. You’d gladly destroy a person’s hopes and dreams in order to achieve your own. You’ve destroyed our family, a family Cynthia wanted for years. She would never leave them. She would never kill herself…” He trailed off, a quiver in his voice.
When I heard a slight rustling, I peered over my shoulder, watching Brian stand from the booth.
“Despite what you’re telling me, what the reports say, I know she didn’t take her own life. I’m going to get to the bottom of what happened, and I don’t care what it takes to do that. I will bring Cynthia’s killer to justice, even if it’s by my own hand.” He quickly spun around and began walking away.
“Brian, wait,” my father called out. I discreetly stole a glimpse at him, watching as he licked his lips, as if debating what he was about to do. Then he sighed, resigned. “She’s not dead.”
Brian immediately stopped in his tracks, slowly turning around. Disbelief and anger rolled over his features, the distaste he harbored for my father as clear as day, his lips curled, his eyes narrowed.
“Don’t you think I’ve been through enough, that the kids have been through enough?” he asked in a quiet but firm voice. “No child should have to sit through her mother’s funeral, then pretend she’s happy when her date picks her up for her senior prom. This was supposed to be the best time in Maggie’s life. Finishing high school. Starting college. Instead, I’ve had to listen to her crying in her room every day about how much she misses her mother. So don’t you dare stand there and tell me it’s all been for nothing, that this is just another one of your mind games, a way to stop me from finally going to the police with what I know, which I should have done back in March.”
“Please, Brian…” My father stepped toward him, his brows gathered in, a pleading look on his face. “If you’ll just sit down and listen to what I have to say, I’ll tell you everything I know. Then, if you still feel the need to go to the police, I’ll drive you there myself.”
A moment of quiet contemplation passed while Brian seemed to weigh his options. Then he headed back toward the booth, retaking his seat.
“If she’s not dead, why would the medical examiner say she was?”
“He owed me a favor. The hardest part was trying to convince you that you didn’t need to see her body. Insisting her face wasn’t recognizable because of the gunshot wound helped.”
Brian closed his eyes, soaking in my father’s version of events, still wary of his trustworthiness.
“Someone must have figured out what Cynthia was about to do, so they put a target on her back. After a car nearly rammed into her as she crossed the street that day after meeting with you, she knew what she needed to do. A friend of mine, who is very good at making people disappear, agreed to help. Someone wanted Cynthia dead, so that’s what we gave them. It was the only way to keep you and your girls safe. If they thought she ran, they’d come after you and your children. We couldn’t let that happen. Faking her death was the only option.”
“You honestly expect me to believe this story? Because a car almost hit her when she was crossing the street?”
“You don’t have to believe anything, but you should. It’s the truth.”
“Where’s your proof?”
My father sighed heavily. “I don’t have any.”
Brian shook his head, his voice filled with disgust. “I can’t help but think you’re blowing smoke up my ass so I won’t look into her death anymore, so I won’t find out the truth that you were responsible for it. Aside from me, you were the only person who knew what she was about to do, who she was about to meet.” He leaned closer, his face less than an inch from my father’s. “She trusted you. She kept your secret for nearly three decades. When this all began, you were the first person she went to. But now
…maybe you’re the person behind it all.”
“Nothing could be further from the truth. I want to help her, not hurt her.”
“Then tell me where she is. If your version of events is to be believed, this is one way to prove it.” He leaned back in the booth, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
My father blew out a frustrated breath, lowering his head. “I can’t. I don’t know where she is.”
Brian threw his head back, laughing sarcastically. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, but—”
“This is not a game. It was the only way. We needed to make these people believe she died. More importantly, we needed you to believe she died. If you weren’t mourning her, whoever’s behind this would have grown suspicious. So we did what was necessary. We cut all communication between us. She knows to stay hidden until this is all over.”
“Isn’t that convenient?”
“No. It’s the truth.”
“You wouldn’t know what truth was if it slapped you in the face.” Brian stood again, glowering down at my father. “Your entire life has been built on one lie after another, on manipulating people so they do what you want. The bottom will eventually drop. I just hope I’m around to see you finally pay for everything you’ve done throughout your miserable excuse of an existence.”
He abruptly turned and rushed out of the bar. This time, my father made no move to stop him. Instead, he drew in a deep breath, rubbing his temples. I returned my eyes to the uneventful baseball game on the television, trying to make sense out of what I’d just overheard.
My father wanted Brian to think Cynthia wasn’t dead, but why? So Brian wouldn’t look into her death and discover that he was behind it? So he wouldn’t find out she didn’t commit suicide as he wanted him and the rest of the world to believe? And what was this secret of my father’s she’d been keeping?
I agreed with Brian. It was much easier to believe Cynthia was dead than the story my father concocted about her being in hiding. Not to mention, I knew something Brian didn’t…that my father had sent her threatening emails, ordering her to thwart Dante’s attention or suffer the consequences. Was my father playing both sides? Did he pretend to be a friend when Cynthia came to him with a problem, then put a target on her back when she confessed she was going to finally go public with what was going on? But what was going on? What information would my father kill for to keep quiet? And how did he even know Cynthia?
I felt a slight breeze behind me and glanced to my right, watching my father’s silhouette disappear out the door. I waited for a moment, taking the time to finish my drink. Once my glass was empty, I stood, adjusted my suit, then left. Stepping onto the sidewalk, I looked up and down the street, feeling exposed, wondering if someone knew what I’d been doing, if someone was going to come after me now that I knew something.
Just as I passed an alley on my way back to the office to do some more digging into Cynthia Edelman’s death so I could corroborate or disprove my father’s story, a hand unexpectedly grabbed onto my arm. I screamed, flailing against the figure pulling me into the shadows. A rough hand covered my mouth, trying to silence my cries.
“Shh. It’s okay,” a familiar voice soothed.
I stopped struggling, my breathing slowing as I craned my head and peered into the eyes of the person holding me. Blinking repeatedly, I freed myself of his grasp, smoothing the lines of my suit.
“Dad? What are—”
“I know you were listening in on my conversation in there.”
I remained silent, not making any excuse for my behavior. If anyone needed to explain themselves, it was him.
“It’s okay,” he assured me. “I would have done the same thing if I saw my father park his car in an area of the city he typically wouldn’t be in and walk into a crappy bar.”
“What you said…,” I began, squaring my shoulders, holding my head high. It always worked during negotiations when I wanted to appear more confident and assured than I felt on the inside. I hoped it worked here, too. After what I just heard, I needed to have the upper hand to get to the truth. “Is it true?” I crossed my arms in front of my chest, my eyes narrowed, wanting him to see he couldn’t bullshit me.
“Every word of it,” he answered in a soft tone, his eyes imploring.
“Where is she?” I pushed, relentless. “And what’s this secret of yours she’s been keeping?”
His breath hitched. “Ellie…” His shoulders fell as he shook his head. “I…”
“You can waffle all you want, but I’m done with the bullshit excuses you give me every week that you’re just trying to protect me by keeping me in the dark.” I leaned into him. “I will get to the bottom of this. I won’t stop until I’ve uncovered everything you’ve been involved in, every place you’ve been, every person you’ve ever had dealings with, every back room conversation you’ve ever been a part of. I’ll know it all, including whether or not Cynthia truly is in ‘hiding’,” I said, using air quotes, hoping he’d see how much I struggled to believe his version of events. “So just come clean. Otherwise, I’ll go to the press with what I’ve been able to figure out on my own so far. Negative publicity in an election year is never a good thing.”
He ran his hand over his tired face, seeming to lack the vigor and vitality he usually exuded. He appeared worn, beaten down. I wondered if maybe he was telling the truth. That maybe he put his own neck on the line to help Cynthia hide from all of this. Then again, this man had spent the past thirty years in the political arena. He had perfected the art of lying to the American people. Lying to his daughter was no different.
“I met Cynthia when I went to D.C. after winning my first election thirty years ago,” he explained, resigned. “She was a senior at George Washington University and doing a congressional internship. She had a brilliant mind. I knew she’d grow into a force to be reckoned with on the Hill, but that wasn’t the direction life took her. Instead, after finishing law school, she worked for a few prestigious firms in Chicago, then signed on as in-house counsel for Barnes Pharmaceuticals. When they relocated their home office to California, she went with them. We lost touch over the years as we both built our careers. It wasn’t until about seven years ago that we ran into each other out of the blue. I figured another twenty-something years would go by before we saw each other again, but this time, it was only a few months before she showed up at my office here in California.”
“What did she want?”
He swallowed hard. “She was being blackmailed. Said someone found out about something that had happened years ago and she was being forced to engage in violations of the ethical code to keep this information a secret and her family alive.”
I licked my lips. In the back of my mind, I wondered if my father was the one blackmailing her. “How so?”
“She was told to do whatever necessary to make sure a certain drug, which she refused to share with me at the time, made it to market and stayed there. I told her I’d help try to figure out who was behind it. I had a few suspicions, but nothing came of them. All correspondence and threats came in the form of untraceable envelopes sent to her home address. No fingerprints were left. Any phone calls were from a burner phone. They were good. They knew what they were doing.”
His praise for their efficiency at not getting caught made me sick to my stomach. I wanted to ask about the emails he and Cynthia had exchanged, but decided against it. My father wasn’t aware I knew about those. I needed to keep a few tricks up my sleeve…for now.
“And this secret?”
“I… I can’t tell you. Not yet. Not until I know no harm will come to anyone because of it.”
“Even all these years later?” I lifted a brow, my voice heavy with disbelief.
“Yes, Ellie. Even all these years later.” He gazed upon me fondly, his hand twitching, as if wanting to reach out and ca
ress my skin. “Until I can figure out what’s going on, you have to trust me that this secret is not illegal. It’s just something that may paint me in a…somewhat different light.”
“Trust,” I scoffed. “That’s an interesting word coming from you.”
“I know I’ve never given you a reason to believe me, and that’s on me. I take full responsibility for not being the best father to you. But, for the first time in your life, I need you to take a leap of faith and trust me. I promise, I will eventually tell you everything, but not yet.”
“What information was she going to share with Dante?” I pressed, narrowing my gaze at him.
“When he started calling around, asking about a particular drug they manufactured, the drug she was being blackmailed over, Cynthia got nervous that he’d bring too much unwelcome attention to the company. It goes without saying that these people wouldn’t look too kindly upon that. Luckily, she was able to convince him that it tested well, that there was no evidence to suggest there was anything wrong with the drug in question. But the guilt started to eat her up, particularly when she learned what happened to his daughter. She couldn’t imagine being in his shoes, so she began to look at the reports a little more closely. A small number of patients who had taken the drug in question did die, but reports didn’t say with certainty it was because of the drug. Even if the FDA looked into it, they wouldn’t think anything was wrong.
“She continued analyzing the reports, charting the deaths. There was a slight increase over a short period of time roughly six years ago, around the time she began getting the threats. She concluded that perhaps a batch had been contaminated. It was a newer drug, so she theorized that maybe the CEO or someone else higher up was the one threatening her, considering the board and majority shareholders stood to gain millions, if not billions, of dollars by the success of this drug.”