Page 44 of Our Elliana

NINETEEN: Happy 31st, Elliana

ELLIANA

In handwritten blocky all caps it says, “HAPPY 31st, ELLIANA.”

Stunned into silence, I don’t initially respond when Diego asks me something. I don’t register his question or anything else. It’s like being at the bottom of the Potomac with only that damn birthday card for company. Only once Tristan nudges me can I distinguish Diego’s words, and even then they arrive with a muffled echo as if through a tunnel.

“Elle? Elliana, you feeling okay?” I bob my head at him, even though I don’t feel okay. I don’t by a long shot. “Do you recognize the handwriting?”

“No.”

My three men have closed in, creating a physical, triangular wall between me and everyone nearby. Noah is even squinting into the surrounding darkness as if seeking out possible suspects. Might whoever has done this be out there right now? Is more than my business and some window glass in peril?

It’s Diego, however, who brings me out of my stupor. “Is it your birthday today?”

He could, of course, peek at a copy of my driver’s license, which I’m sure he has access to, but I think he’s trying to keep me talking.

“It is. My thirty-first, just like the card says.”

“And you still have no clue who might’ve done this?” Diego prods. “Only someone who knows you or has dug up private intel about you would have access to such information.”

“I know you’re right,” I tell him. “But I can’t think of anyone.”

This is a mode of inquiry I’ve been contemplating ever since getting here. I’ve been sifting through my brain nonstop only to come up with a big fat blank. It’s infuriating.

Diego commences another line of queries. “Any exes spring to mind? Any where the end was... contentious?”

I shake my head in the negative.

“Is there anyone you’ve fought with recently?”

“No.”

“Anyone who might bear you a grudge?”

My gaze has stayed locked on that card, but now I peek over at Diego uncomprehending. I know what he said, I just can’t seem to make my synapses fire properly.

“Grudge?”

He’s being far more patient with me than I would probably be with somebody in my position. “A professional associate where a deal went sour. Or a disgruntled former employee. Someone like that.”

“No, nobody. I mean, when I was younger and would tell people my plans, some would be disparaging. Then, there are the rando sexists or racists. But that’s about it.”

“I’m going to need you to elaborate on those who were disparaging, sexist, or racist.”

Jesus, I don’t want to dredge up any of that.

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