Chapter 7 - The Man Who Deleted Everything
Mason made it to the garage before I caught him.
He was stronger than me.
I was angrier.
We crashed into the side of a black Range Rover.
He swung once.
I ducked.
Then two deputies pulled us apart.
“Enough!”
Mason stopped fighting.
His face had changed.
Not defiant anymore.
Defeated.
I pointed at him.
“You were there when Elena died?”
He looked at Beatriz standing in the garage doorway.
She nodded once.
Mason closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
My entire body went cold.
“You told police you were home.”
“I lied.”
“Why?”
Mason had worked for my family for eleven years. He taught Isabella how to ride a bicycle without training wheels. He knew the names of every employee, every alarm code, every blind spot on the property.
That was what betrayal looked like when it was efficient.
“You deleted the footage,” I said.
His shoulders dropped.
“Yes.”
“For my mother?”
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
He looked at me.
“Enough that you should stop asking if this started with Beatriz.”
My stomach turned.
The woman abusing Isabella had been the person I could see. Mason was telling me the house itself had been built to help her hide it.
“Your mother ordered me to follow Elena.”
One deputy started recording.
Mason noticed.
“Then I want a lawyer.”
I grabbed his shirt.
“Tell me what happened.”
The deputy pulled my hand away.
Mason looked at Isabella, who stood inside with the child-welfare officer.
He lowered his voice.
“Celeste wanted the red box.”
“Elena had it in the car?”
“We thought she did.”
“We?”
Mason’s eyes moved toward Beatriz.
I turned.
Beatriz looked sick.
“I was in the second car,” she whispered.
My chest tightened.
“You were both following my wife?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Beatriz began crying.
“Because she crashed.”
The garage disappeared around me.
“What did you say?”
Mason spoke fast now, like the truth had broken through something.
“Elena knew she was being followed. She sped up. We stayed back. Then another vehicle came out of a side road.”
“What vehicle?”
He shook his head.
“I couldn’t see the driver.”
“It hit her?”
“It forced her toward the cliff wall. She lost control.”
I could hear my own breathing.
“You called 911?”
Mason looked down.
“Beatriz did.”
I stared at her.
She nodded.
“Then why did Elena wait nineteen minutes for an ambulance?”
Neither answered.
I remembered the accident report.
The first emergency call had disconnected.
The second came eleven minutes later from a passing motorist.
I stepped closer to Mason.
“What car forced her off the road?”
He whispered, “Your car.”
I actually laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because my brain rejected it.
“I was in Chicago.”
“I know.”
“My car was here.”
“No.”
Mason looked toward the far bay of the garage.
“Your mother took it that night.”
Beatriz’s voice cracked behind me.
“And I was sitting beside her.”
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