Chapter 5 - EASIER TO MANAGE
The phrase followed me everywhere.
Easier to manage.
I heard it in the shower.
In the car.
At Lily's grave.
In bed at three in the morning.
Easier to manage.
That was how David thought about our daughter.
Not as a child whose entire world would be destroyed if her mother died.
Not as a little girl who needed bedtime stories.
Pancakes.
Hugs.
A parent at school plays.
A parent at the hospital.
A parent who answered the damn phone.
Manage.
Like a problem.
Like a schedule.
Like a corporate liability.
Rebecca continued questioning Vale.
"What did David intend to do with Lily?"
Vale looked toward his attorney.
Then answered.
"Boarding school."
"Where?"
"Switzerland."
"How soon after Maya's death?"
Vale hesitated.
"Within two months."
Rebecca stared at him.
"You discussed this?"
"David did."
"Why?"
"He didn't want the kid asking questions."
"What questions?"
"About her mother."
Vale paused.
"He said children adapt."
Rebecca's jaw tightened.
"Did you believe him?"
"I didn't care."
That sentence went into the transcript.
So did everything else.
Vale claimed David never explicitly ordered him to kill me.
He ordered intimidation.
A "controlled incident."
Something that would make me dependent.
Afraid.
Less likely to challenge him financially.
But Vale admitted he warned David the brake sabotage could become fatal.
"What did he say?"
Vale rubbed his jaw.
"He said, 'Then don't screw it up.'"
"Meaning?"
"Make sure she survives."
Rebecca stared at him.
"You cut the brake line on a car and expected someone to survive?"
Vale's expression remained flat.
"I've done it before."
The room went silent.
That was how monsters spoke.
Not screaming.
Not angry.
Casually.
As if a human life were a technical variable.
Vale's cooperation opened everything.
He identified shell corporations.
Cash routes.
Private meetings.
Security contractors.
And one name investigators had not expected.
Elliot Crane.
David's executive assistant.
The man who had spent eleven years walking three steps behind David.
Quiet.
Polite.
Invisible.
Elliot knew everything.
Every password.
Every flight.
Every offshore transfer.
Every call David refused.
But when agents went to his apartment, he was gone.
His closets were empty.
His passport missing.
His work phone dead.
Then they found something worse.
A second phone pinged less than three blocks from my apartment.
Nathan called immediately.
"Get out."
I was standing in Lily's bedroom box room.
"What?"
"Don't pack."
"Nathan—"
"Leave now."
I grabbed my keys.
Then stopped.
Lily's stuffed rabbit sat on the couch.
I went back for it.
That decision cost eleven seconds.
Eleven seconds later, I opened the apartment door and saw a man at the end of the hallway.
Tall.
Dark coat.
Baseball cap.
He looked up.
I knew him.
"Elliot."
He froze.
Then smiled.
"Maya."
My blood turned cold.
"What are you doing here?"
He took one step toward me.
I stepped backward.
"David wants to talk."
"David is in custody."
"David wants to talk."
The exact repetition terrified me.
I reached for my phone.
Elliot's smile disappeared.
"Don't."
The elevator doors opened behind him.
Two federal agents stepped out.
"Elliot Crane!"
He ran.
I backed into my apartment.
The agents chased him down the stairwell.
I slammed the door.
My hands shook so badly I dropped the deadbolt twice.
Five minutes later, agents moved me to a secure location.
Elliot escaped.
That evening, David sat across from Richard Halpern in federal detention.
Richard placed Elliot's photograph on the table.
"He approached Maya."
David looked up sharply.
"What?"
"You heard me."
"Why?"
"Good question."
David's eyes narrowed.
"Elliot wouldn't."
"He did."
David looked genuinely confused.
Richard watched him.
"Did you send him?"
"No."
"Tell the truth."
"I am."
Richard leaned back.
"Then your assistant is operating independently."
David's face changed.
"No."
"Why not?"
"He wouldn't."
"Because he's loyal?"
David said nothing.
Richard almost laughed.
"You really still believe loyalty exists in this story?"
David's jaw tightened.
"Elliot knows what happens if he turns on me."
"You're incarcerated."
"He still knows."
Richard studied him.
"What does he know?"
David didn't answer.
Richard lowered his voice.
"What does Elliot have?"
Silence.
"David."
"The archive."
Richard's face went still.
"What archive?"
David stared at the wall.
"Records."
"Of what?"
"Everything."
Richard waited.
David continued.
"Payments."
"Bribes?"
"Some."
"Political contributions?"
"Some."
"Police?"
David didn't answer.
"Judges?"
Silence.
"Federal officials?"
David looked at Richard.
That was enough.
Richard whispered, "Jesus Christ."
David leaned forward.
"Elliot cannot release it."
"Why?"
"Because half the people in that archive will destroy him."
"Or protect him."
David looked up.
Richard continued.
"If he owns your secrets, he owns your network."
David stared.
Then understood.
Elliot wasn't running from David's empire.
He was taking it.
And David was trapped inside federal detention while the man he had treated like furniture stole everything.
Richard stood.
"Where would Elliot go?"
David looked toward the guard.
Then back at Richard.
"He has access to a private airfield."
"Where?"
"Outside Joliet."
Federal agents reached the airfield before midnight.
A Gulfstream sat on the tarmac.
Engines warm.
Pilot ready.
No Elliot.
Only an envelope on one of the seats.
Inside was a photograph.
Me.
Leaving the cemetery.
Written across the bottom:
SHE HAS SOMETHING I NEED.
The next morning, agents searched my storage unit.
At first, nothing was missing.
Then I looked at Lily's box.
May you like
The music box.
Gone.
