Page 63 of The Shadow

Harvey warned me that it would eventually make the news and he would be identified. I didn’t ask him how it happened or what his last words were. I thought that I would, that I would want to know if he suffered, but once Harvey was back home, in our bed, none of that mattered to me anymore. Connor Blake would simply be a bad memory, one that would eventually dissipate from my brain, lost in a forgotten haze of indifference.

That short conversation with Harvey is the most I’ve spoken about Connor or his death since it happened.

“Oh God, no.” She laughs. “The bastard was found dead in a no-tell motel in Mexico. Apparently, he’d paid for a month up front so nobody checked on him until the cleaning lady wouldn’t stop complaining about the rancid smell.”

“Oh my goodness.” I clutch my imaginary pearls. “Do they know what happened?”

She shrugs, sipping her second martini. “He was murdered for sure,” she says, not giving any more details than that and I don’t press. “I’m not surprised. I’m just sad I didn’t get the pleasure of cutting out his tongue.”

“His tongue was cut out?” I can’t keep the surprise from my voice as I lean halfway across the table at her.

“Yeah, felt fitting considering the man loved to hear himself talk. Anyway, the FBI and Mexican authorities spoke to me and I told them I had no interest in anything to do with his death. I was granted a divorce the second the charges were brought against him and I don’t want or need his money so until they sort all that out with the courts, I’m just living my best life with that piece of shit in the dust.”

“Did they question you about it? I know he had made some unsubstantiated claims about your family and connections you have.”

She rolls her eyes. “He’s been saying that stuff for years, all nonsense, of course. I mean, anyone with half a brain that has had more than a two-minute conversation with Connor would know that if I did have those kinds of connections”—she leans in—“I’d have taken the bastard out a lot sooner than this.” She winks, which makes me giggle. “Cheers.” She lifts her glass toward me.

“Cheers,” I say, taking the smallest sip of the overly strong martini. “And thanks again for inviting me out. I was curious how you were doing but I didn’t want to overstep a boundary. I know we aren’t exactly friends.” I’m not sure if she picks up on the uptick in my intonation that I struggle to hide because while she does intimidate me, she is the kind of person I’d like to be friends with.

“A boundary?” She piffs away my comment. “You saved my life. You and I are connected forever.”

I smile at her and it feels good to trust my gut. There’s something about Lyra that tells me she’s the kind of ally you want on your side. The loyal kind who won’t throw you under the bus when the shit hits the fan just because she has an image to upkeep.

“But I did have one question for you.” She lifts that eyebrow at me again, her finger delicately running along the rim of her glass.

“Yes?”

“I received a call from one of my accountants. He noticed a substantial increase in one of my offshore accounts a few months back. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

I’m still shit at hiding my emotions because I can feel my face grow white. “I do.” I nod. “When I was”—I glance around, not wanting to say words that might perk up any ears—“researching, I found this online wallet that had a decent amount of crypto currency in it and… I knew it wasn’t something that would be missed. He had enough liquidity in other accounts to pay back what he had embezzled from Outside Media and I knew his funds would be tied up forever once he got caught, possible drained by legal fees so I… I moved the cryptos into an account I found in your name.”

“Aspen,” she says my name softly, her hand coming to rest atop mine.

“I’m sorry, I took some,” I confess. “I—there’s nothing I can say that justifies it, but I stole from him. I took $78,954 which was the sum of my mom’s still unpaid medical debt. I will gladly pay you back over time, I pro?—”

She holds up her hand and slowly shakes her head. “I’m not angry. I didn’t ask because I thought you took some; I don’t care that you did, Aspen. I already have more money than I could spend. I don’t need that. What I’m wondering is why you did that?”

“I saw,” I say, feeling foolish that I thought moving money into her account could atone for the police record I found when going through all of Connor’s dirty details. “The police report and I know I shouldn’t have read it, but I did and when I saw the account with your name and hers…”

“It’s okay,” she says with tears in her eyes. “I understand.”

Perhaps it’s just her attempt to get me to stop talking about what I assume is probably the hardest, most traumatic experience of her life… losing an unborn child due to a mysterious fall down the stairs. The report had listed Lyra’s comments as redacted and no charges were ever pressed. Something I’m sure Connor played a major role in.

The report didn’t list the child’s sex or name but when I saw the account that had been created about five months before the police report and listed a girl’s name with deceased next to it, I made the assumption it was for her unborn daughter. I’m sure when she created that account with her and her daughter’s name on it, she had a purpose in mind.

“Again, I’m sorry. I’m realizing how far I overstepped and I stupidly thought that it would go unnoticed.”

“It probably would have if you’d chosen any other account.” She laughs, reaching for a cocktail napkin to dab at her eyes.

“I don’t know what I thought it was going to atone moving the money into that account or how it would help, but maybe it was just me wanting you to know that someone else knows… and believes you.”

“I hadn’t expected to be confiding in you today when I invited you out.” She gives me a sarcastic scowl but there’s still an edge to her voice. It’s evident that opening up and sharing any feelings is not a welcome experience for her. “I appreciate it, though. It’s not something I’m used to.” Her chin quivers and she does her best to still it. “I was a prisoner in my own home with him.”

She can barely eek out the last few words but a flood of emotion releases from her just saying that one sentence, like she’d been holding it in all this time.

“Nobody believed me. I remember trying to tell my mother when she just smiled this sad, hollow smile and told me that it could be worse, he could be dead. I remember thinking in that moment that she had misspoken, that she had meant to say that it could be worse because I could be dead, but it wasn’t what she meant. And that’s when I realized she too was a prisoner, shackled to this life of expectation because of money.”

“My mom was in the same situation, only it wasn’t money that kept her with my father; it was the threat of violence against me and her.”

---