Chapter 73: Shards of Resolve Jake POV

I sat on the couch, my elbows digging into my knees, my hands cradling my head as Melissa’s arms loosened around me, her warmth pulling back. The whiskey bottle sat empty in the sink, the faint drip of water plinking against the glass, the only sound breaking the heavy silence. I grabbed the crumpled photo of Sophia and Ethan from the table where she’d left it, my fingers tightening around the edges, creasing their smiling faces.

"She’s gone, Mel," I muttered, standing, pacing to the desk by the window, my socks scuffing the hardwood. I yanked open the top drawer, tossing the photo inside with a flick of my wrist, slamming it shut, the wood rattling.

Melissa stood, adjusting her scarf, her boots clicking as she walked over, grabbing the glass of water I’d barely touched. "She’s not gone, Jake—just lost right now," she said, setting it back down with a soft clink, her hand brushing my arm.

I turned, kicking the desk leg, the thud sharp in the quiet. "Lost? She’s at Ethan’s—sleeping there!" I snapped, my voice rough, grabbing a beer from the fridge, twisting the cap off with a hiss, the metal clattering onto the counter.

"She’s helping him," Melissa replied, folding her arms, leaning against the counter. "You know how she feels about guilt."

I took a swig, the cold biting my throat, slamming the bottle down, the glass wobbling. "Helping him? She’s choosing him—over me!" I shouted, pacing back to the couch, flopping onto it, the springs creaking under me.

Melissa followed, grabbing a dish towel, wiping a stray drop of beer off the table with quick swipes. "You don’t know that, Jake. She’s torn—give her time."

"Time?" I laughed, a harsh sound, grabbing a pillow, squeezing it hard in my fists. "I’ve given her everything—time, support, me—and she’s with him!"

She tossed the towel onto the counter, sitting beside me, her hand resting on my knee. "You’re enough, Jake—she’s just blind to it right now."

I shook my head, tossing the pillow aside, my hands running through my hair, tugging at the ends. "Blind or not, she’s made her choice, Mel. I’m done waiting," I said, my voice firm, standing again, pacing to the desk.

"Good," she replied, grabbing her phone from her pocket, scrolling with her thumb. "Then move on—don’t let her drag you down."

I nodded, grabbing my laptop from the desk, flipping it open with a snap, the screen glowing as I sat back down. "I’m moving on—starting with Victor," I said, cracking my knuckles, my fingers hovering over the keys.

Melissa raised an eyebrow, setting her phone down with a tap. "Victor? What’s he got to do with this?"

"Everything," I shot back, typing Victor Sinclair history into the search bar, hitting enter with a sharp jab. "He’s why she’s obsessed—why she’s with Ethan. I’m digging into him—alone."

She leaned over, peering at the screen, her glasses slipping slightly as she adjusted them. "Alone? Jake, that’s risky—he’s dangerous."

"I don’t care," I said, scrolling through the results, my thumb brushing the trackpad, clicking on an old news link—Sinclair Global CEO Expands Empire. "He’s taken enough—I’m finding dirt."

She grabbed a pen from the table, twirling it between her fingers. "What kind of dirt? The cops already dropped Colson."

"Doesn’t mean he’s clean," I replied, opening another tab, typing Victor Sinclair scandals, my eyes scanning the headlines—business deals, lawsuits, nothing juicy yet. "There’s something—always is with guys like him."

Melissa stood, pacing to the kitchen, grabbing a soda from the fridge, popping the tab with a hiss. "Just be careful, Jake—he’s got eyes everywhere."

"Let him watch," I muttered, clicking a link to an archived forum, my fingers tapping the keys faster, pulling up a thread—Sinclair rumors. "I’ve got nothing left to lose."

She sipped her soda, setting it on the counter with a clink, walking back to sit beside me. "You’ve got me—and yourself. Don’t throw that away."

I nodded, flipping to another page, my mouse hovering over a grainy photo of Victor shaking hands with some suit, my voice low. "Not throwing—just fighting back my way."

We sat there, the laptop humming, my fingers scrolling through old posts—speculation about shady deals, whispers of payoffs. I grabbed a notepad from the desk, scribbling a name—Tom, security—ripping the page off with a tear, tucking it into my pocket.

"Find anything?" Melissa asked, leaning closer, her elbow brushing mine as she sipped her soda again.

"Not yet," I said, opening a new tab, typing Victor Sinclair death, my thumb hitting enter, my eyes narrowing at the results—obituaries, unrelated hits, then something older. "Wait," I muttered, clicking a link—Local Businessman Linked to Mysterious Death, Case Unsolved.

I leaned forward, my finger tracing the screen, reading aloud. "‘Victor Sinclair questioned in 1998—associate found dead, no charges filed.’" I slammed the laptop shut, my hand gripping the edge, my voice rising. "What the hell’s this?"

Melissa grabbed the soda can, her fingers tightening around it. "1998? That’s before Sinclair Global—way back."

"Yeah," I said, standing, pacing to the window, pushing the blinds open with a sharp tug, peering out at the dark street—a car’s headlights flashed by. "Another death—Victor’s name on it. This changes everything."