Chapter 153: The man who knew

Alina

The drive to the state facility takes just under three hours, and I spend most of it staring out the window, watching unfamiliar towns blur past, trying to prepare myself for whatever version of my father's death I'm about to hear. Dominic drives in silence beside me, occasionally reaching over to squeeze my hand, understanding without being told that I need the quiet more than conversation right now."You don't have to do this," he says as we pull into the facility's visitor parking lot, the gray concrete building looming ahead of us, all barbed wire and reinforced windows. "We could wait. Let Reyes handle the questioning, get you a transcript afterward.""I need to hear it directly," I say. "Whatever he says, I need to see his face when he says it. I need to know if he's telling the truth."Dominic nods, understanding settling into his expression, and together we walk toward the entrance, submitting to the security checks and procedural waiting that precede any prison visitation. Reyes meets us in the lobby, her expression professionally neutral, though something like concern flickers beneath it when she looks at me."You're sure about this?" she asks."I'm sure," I say, though my voice wavers slightly on the words.She leads us through a series of checkpoints, finally arriving at a small visitation room, sterile and fluorescent-lit, a metal table bolted to the floor separating two chairs on either side. We wait only a few minutes before a guard escorts the man inside, and I study him carefully as he's seated across from us, cuffed hands resting on the table.He's older than I expected, weathered in a way that suggests decades of hard living, gray threading through what remains of his dark hair. His eyes, when they meet mine, carry something I don't expect, genuine remorse, or something close enough to it that my carefully prepared anger falters slightly."You're Alina," he says. "You look like him. Your father.""You knew him?" I ask, my voice steadier than I feel."Knew him," he corrects. "Watched him for two weeks before the job. That's how it works. You learn someone's patterns before you approach them.""Tell her what actually happened," Reyes says, her tone brooking no deflection. "The full truth, exactly as you told your attorney."The man's jaw tightens, and for a moment I think he might refuse, might retreat into whatever self-preservation instinct has kept him alive through years of incarceration. Then something shifts in his expression, resignation, maybe, or the particular exhaustion of someone finally ready to unburden themselves."I was hired to scare him," he says. "Not kill him. Victor's people were very specific about that. Rough him up enough that he'd understand the message, stop asking questions about the accounts he'd discovered, maybe relocate somewhere far away if he valued his family's safety.""But something went wrong," I say, echoing what Reyes had relayed."He fought back," the man says. "Harder than I expected from an accountant. We were on that stretch of road specifically because it was isolated, minimal traffic, easy to stage as a single-vehicle accident. I ran him off the road, intending exactly that, a controlled crash, enough to leave him shaken and compliant.""But he wasn't compliant," I say, my voice barely above a whisper now."He recognized me," the man says. "Somehow, despite my precautions, he recognized me from watching him those two weeks. Started shouting that he'd already made copies of everything, sent them somewhere safe, that killing him wouldn't stop the truth from surfacing eventually."My chest tightens painfully, imagining my father in those final moments, defiant even facing violence, still thinking of protecting the truth rather than his own safety."What happened then?" Dominic asks quietly, when I can't seem to form the question myself."He tried to escape," the man says, and something in his voice suggests genuine difficulty relaying this part. "The car door jammed, or he panicked, I don't fully know which. He ran toward the tree line instead, and I made the decision, in that moment, that letting him escape meant considerably worse consequences from Victor than exceeding my original instructions.""You killed him," I say, the words scraping raw against my throat. "Deliberately. Not an accident at all.""I made it look like an accident afterward," he confirms, unable to meet my eyes now. "Staged the crash properly, ensured the physical evidence supported the story everyone eventually believed. I'm not proud of what I did. I've had considerable time to reckon with that particular choice."The room falls silent except for the hum of fluorescent lighting overhead, and I feel Dominic's hand find mine beneath the table, steady and grounding despite everything I'm absorbing."Why tell me this now?" I finally ask. "After fourteen years of silence, why come forward at all?""Because Victor's organization is finished," the man says simply. "Whatever protection his money and influence once offered me, that's gone now. And because," he pauses, something almost vulnerable crossing his weathered features, "because I've carried this considerably longer than I should have, and you deserve to actually know what happened to your father, rather than continuing to believe a lie Victor's people constructed.""Will you testify?" Reyes asks. "Formally, on record, exactly what you've just told us?""I will," he confirms. "Whatever sentence that adds to my current situation, it's less than what I already owe for what I did that night."I sit with this information, feeling something complicated settle through my chest, grief renewed and reshaped by truth, but also something unexpected, a strange thread of closure winding through the devastation. My father died fighting, defiant until his final moments, refusing to let corruption win even facing violence."Thank you," I say finally, surprising myself with the words. "For telling me the truth, even though it's fourteen years overdue."The man nods, something like relief crossing his features, and as guards lead him back toward whatever cell awaits him, I turn to Dominic, feeling exhaustion and grief and something like fragile peace all tangling together within me."I need some air," I say.He doesn't hesitate, guiding me back through the facility's checkpoints toward the parking lot outside, and once we're free of the building's oppressive fluorescent lighting, I finally let the tears I've been holding back fall freely, years of grief finding new shape around this devastating, clarifying truth.