Page 78 of (Un)Rivaled

“Pete’s office downtown,” I answered as I looked over his shoulder. “Diane kept it all these years, and we found all of his old notes and journals there.”

My dad nodded as he thumbed through the pages. “I never took Diane as a sentimental type. I'm glad to hear it, though. Your girl deserves to have these.”

I paused, watching my dad for any sign of distress. “Devyn’s been trying to read them, but the codes inside don’t make any sense.” I pointed to a few of them. “Any idea what they mean?”

“Not a damn clue,” my dad said as he stared at the pages in front of them. “But that was always Pete’s game. He was paranoid, especially towards the end of his life. He’d always written in code, just in case anyone ever subpoenaed his files, but this was a whole new level.” He turned the journal to the side, running his finger along the edges. “There they are.” He laughed as he handed me the book again. “See those marks?” I nodded, following along with his finger. “He’d use those to indicate a case file or if he was meeting with a client he didn’t want to put on the books just yet.”

“Seems like a lot for a small-town lawyer.”

My dad wrinkled his brow. “He wasn’t always.”

“What do you mean?”

He sighed as he backed up in his chair. “He didn’t like to talk about it, but Pete was a hot shot in Manhattan for a long time. Only moved back up here after he reconnected with Diane. Before then, he worked as an Assistant District Attorney.”

“What the hell?” I asked as I analyzed the book. “How come none of us knew about this?”

My dad shook his head. “He left that life behind whenhe married Diane. He didn’t want his past convictions to come back and haunt him.” His face fell. “At least, I thought he did.”

“What do you mean?”

My dad stood, and I shifted around the couch to help him steady himself. He waved me off and moved out of the living room toward the stairs. I followed as he headed upstairs but turned before he got to his room, instead going to the attic stairs at the back of the house. When he opened the door, I reached out, saying, “What are you doing, Dad? Maybe we should go back to your room.”

“Gray, I know you and your mother are worried about me, but I’m fine. Let an old man help while he still can.” I nodded and shifted out of his way. After he climbed the stairs, he hummed to himself and moved some of the boxes around. As we got further into the back and the boxes got heavier, he’d tap on the ones he wanted me to move. When we finally found some unmarked boxes in the back, my dad smiled. “Knew these were up here somewhere.”

“What are they?” I asked, kneeling to open the first box. Dust coated the top, the insides musty and old. The handwriting was familiar, an exact match for the scribbles inside the journal.Pete’s files.The evidence we’d hoped was waiting in his office had been sitting in my attic all along, right above my head for God knows how long. I sat back and covered my mouth with my hand. “I’ll be damned.”

“Before Pete died, he asked me to look after this stuff, that I hold onto it until someone we trusted came looking for it.” He chuckled as he moved to my side. “Tried to open the box, and he made me swear I wouldn’t go digging, that I would just store them until someone was able to follow the clues.”

“Devyn,” I whispered as I pulled out one of the file folders. It was almost identical to the ones Laurel had assembled for David’s assumed victims. The first case looked familiar as soon as I saw it—a young woman who disappeared after filing a bunch of complaints against an executive at her office. We’d just added her to the pile. Laurel and I had missed her originally not seeing the connection until we followed the paper trail Tomas and Devyn laid out. Once we realized David was a major shareholder in the company and would have lost millions if the allegations were true, the dots started to connect themselves. But we would never have gotten this far, not without Devyn. A slow smile formed as I imagined the look on her face when she saw these boxes. “He was waiting for her.”

“I wouldn’t have been surprised,” my dad chuckled. “He loved all his girls, but he connected the most with Devyn. Always joked about how he was going to have to share his office with her one day.”

“She would have loved that,” I said as I kept digging, finding more and more evidence on David. “I can’t believe this. Everything we’ve been looking for—it’s been sitting here all along.” Once I reached the back, there were newspaper clippings, pictures of a road I instantly recognized. But the handwriting was different, seeing my dad’s scribbled text instead of Pete’s crowded loops. I held it up to him. “What’s this?”

My dad took the file from my hand. He thumbed through it and shook his head as he handed it back to me. “I started to collect this stuff after Peter passed, but it never went anywhere. I never thought Pete’s death was an accident. The man was never rattled, and when he came here with these boxes, he was scared. A week later, he was dead?On a road he’d driven a million times?” He shook his head. “Never bought that story. But once the cops said it was an accident, what could I do?”

I nodded as I stood, digging my phone out of my pocket. But before I could dial Devyn’s number, my dad placed his hand on top of mine. “Are you sure you want to do this, son?” When I started to speak, he held up his hand. “I know how much Devyn means to you, and if you two want to pursue this, I’m not going to stand in your way. But this cost my best friend his life, cost Devyn her father. Think long and hard if this is a fight you can win.”

“I already have,” I whispered as I looked down at the boxes. So many folders, so many files, so many people whose lives were cut short for no reason. “I don’t know if we can win it, but I also couldn’t live with myself if we didn’t try. These families deserve answers, Dad.”

He nodded and began walking down the stairs. “Then I hope you find what you need.”

As soon as he was back on the main level of the house, I pulled up Devyn’s number and hit the call button. While it rang, I checked my watch. It had been almost three hours since she left. Surely, she was heading this way. But when her voicemail clicked on, I frowned. I pulled up my messaging app and fired one off in our group chat. Before I could hit send, though, I saw one waiting for me, a picture Devyn had sent almost an hour ago. Why the fuck hadn’t I heard it? Shit, it must have been while I was talking to my dad. I turned my phone on silent because I didn’t want to disturb him. I glanced at the image, seeing one of her dark painted nails pointed to the marking in the corners. I smirked. My fucking brilliant wife. She’d figured it out, even without my dad.

But that flash of pride was soon extinguished when I called her again, and once again, her voicemail greeted me. I frowned as I switched over to the group chat and sent a message.

ME

Anyone heard from Devyn? She should have been back by now.

LAUREL

Not since her last text.

TOMAS

Same. Did you want me to track her phone?

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