Chapter 72 A Dangerous Discovery

Chapter 72 A Dangerous Discovery
Primo's POV
THE PROBLEM with secrets was that the deeper you dug, the uglier they became.
Most people imagined the truth as something clean. They believed that once enough evidence was uncovered, everything would fall neatly into place and finally make sense.
Experience had taught me otherwise. The truth was usually buried for a reason. And the people responsible for burying it rarely did so without leaving blood behind.
I stared at the stack of documents spread across my desk and slowly exhaled.
Outside my dorm room window, Vanguard was settling into the quiet rhythm of evening. Students were returning from classes, heading toward dinner, or pretending to study while gossiping about everyone else's lives.
Normally, campus noise didn't bother me. Tonight, I barely heard it. 
My attention remained fixed on the records in front of me.
For the past week, I had been tracing every lead connected to Ricardo Hamilton's final months.
Most of the information was useless. Old race statistics. Media reports. Sponsor statements. Public investigations.
The same stories repeated so many times that I could practically recite them from memory. 
Ricardo Hamilton had been one of the greatest drivers of his generation. Then drugs entered the picture, and his performances declined. His reputation collapsed and his marriage suffered. Eventually, he died in a crash that ended one of racing's most infamous scandals.
That was the official version. The problem was that the official version kept contradicting itself.
I picked up another document and compared it to the report beside it. The discrepancy was small. Most people would never notice it.
I noticed.
My eyes narrowed. Then I reached for a third report. And a fourth. The uncomfortable feeling that had been bothering me for days suddenly returned. Something was wrong.
I grabbed a pen and began marking dates. 
One report listed a witness statement that appeared nowhere else. Another referenced a toxicology review that had supposedly been removed from the final investigation. A third contained a notation that disappeared completely in later copies.
My pulse quickened. That wasn't normal. Official reports could contain errors. They could contain omissions. But they weren't supposed to change. Especially not after being finalized.
I sat back in my chair. Then immediately leaned forward again.
No. I wasn't imagining it. Someone had altered these records. The realization settled heavily in my stomach.
I pull1ed the earliest copy closer. I compared every page. The differences became impossible to ignore. Entire sections had been removed. Certain witness references vanished. Dates had been adjusted. Comments had been rewritten.
Someone had gone through these files and deliberately changed the narrative. Not once. Repeatedly.
"Jesus," I muttered.
The room suddenly felt smaller. Because altering official records wasn't the kind of mistake that happened accidentally. It required access, authority, and intent.
Someone had wanted information hidden. The question was why.
I thought about Tasha. About the months she'd spent searching for answers. About the frustration in her voice every time another lead disappeared. About the determination that kept driving her forward even when everyone around her told her to stop digging.
She deserved to know.
The thought appeared instantly. And yet… I hesitated.
My gaze drifted toward a single page resting near the bottom of the pile. A page I had discovered less than ten minutes earlier. A page I had not intended to find.
Slowly, I picked it up.
The document looked ordinary at first glance. Just another investigative appendix. Just another supplemental note buried among hundreds of forgotten records.
But one sentence changed everything.
My jaw tightened as I read it again. The statement wasn't definitive. It wasn't proof. But it pointed toward something dangerous. Something connected to my family.
Something connected to Tasha's father.
I lowered the page onto the desk. For several seconds, I simply stared at it.
If Tasha saw this… Everything would change. The investigation. Our partnership. Possibly even her trust in me.
I hated that thought. More than I wanted to admit.
A sharp knock interrupted my thoughts. I immediately flipped the page over.
"Come in."
The door opened.
To my surprise, Luigi stepped inside. He looked exhausted.
"Please tell me you've eaten today."
I blinked. "What?"
"You heard me."
Luigi glanced at the mountain of documents covering my desk. His expression instantly turned judgmental. "That's a no."
"I had lunch."
"When?"
I checked my phone. Then frowned. "Several hours ago."
"Primo."
"I'm fine."
"You look like you've been interrogating government officials."
"I wish."
Luigi dropped into the chair opposite me.
His gaze wandered across the documents. "What did you find?"
I considered lying.
Then decided it wasn't worth the effort. "Evidence."
His eyebrows lifted. "That's vague."
"It's supposed to be."
Luigi sighed. "I walked into that one."
"Yes."
He shook his head before becoming serious. "Is it important?"
I looked toward the hidden page. Then away. "More important than I expected."
Luigi studied me carefully.
Unfortunately, he was annoyingly observant. "You look worried."
"I'm thinking."
I leaned back. "Worry means uncertainty."
"And?"
"I'm certain."
For the first time, Luigi's expression darkened. "What does that mean?"
"It means somebody altered official records."
The silence that followed lasted several seconds. Then Luigi sat upright. "What?"
I nodded. "I checked multiple versions."
"Are you sure?"
"Completely."
His disbelief slowly shifted into concern. "Do you think Tasha knows?"
"No."
"Are you going to tell her?"
The question arrived faster than I expected. And for a moment, I didn't answer.
That was all Luigi needed.
His eyes narrowed. "Primo."
I looked away. "Not yet."
"Why?"
Because I was hiding something. Because there was one page sitting upside down on my desk. Because I wasn't ready for Tasha to see it. None of those answers sounded particularly impressive.
Instead, I said, "Because I need to verify it first."
The excuse wasn't entirely false. That was what made it useful.
Luigi studied me for another moment before slowly nodding. "Just be careful."
I laughed quietly. "That's ironic coming from you. You're usually the responsible one."
"I am the responsible one."
"Exactly."
Luigi rolled his eyes. Despite the tension, a faint smile appeared on his face. Then he stood. "I'm serious, Primo."
"I know."
"If this involves Tasha—"
"It does."
"Then don't make decisions for her."
The words hit harder than he probably intended. After a moment, I nodded. "I'll remember that."
Luigi left shortly afterward. The door clicked shut behind him.
Silence returned.
My eyes immediately found the hidden page again. For a long time, I didn't move. I simply stared at it. Trying to decide whether I was protecting Tasha or protecting myself. The answer was far less clear than I wanted it to be.
Eventually, I reached forward and slipped the document into a separate folder. A folder she had never seen. A folder she would never know existed.
At least not yet.
Then I locked the drawer. The metallic click echoed through the room.
For the first time since meeting Natasha Hamilton, guilt settled heavily in my chest. Because she trusted me. More than she should.
And tonight, I had just proven that I wasn't telling her everything.
Not even close.