Page 10 of Silent Home

"You okay?"Finn asked quietly.

Sheila realized she'd been lost in thought."Just thinking."

"About Tommy?"

"No.But now I am."She chewed her lip, then met Finn's eyes."I need to tell you something.I found a laptop in Tommy's apartment this morning."

Finn set down his coffee, his expression carefully neutral."Tell me you had a warrant."

"I didn't."She held his gaze, refusing to look away."But after what happened to him in custody, after everything that's gone down...I couldn't wait for paperwork."

A street performer started juggling nearby, drawing applause from a growing crowd.The sound felt jarring against the weight of their conversation.

"Where is it?"Finn asked quietly.

"In my truck."Sheila leaned forward."It's password protected, but if anyone can crack it..."

"Don't."Finn ran a hand through his hair—a gesture she recognized as frustration mixed with concern."Don't ask me to do that.Not without a warrant.You know anything we find would be inadmissible."

"I'm not thinking about court, Finn.I'm thinking about staying alive."She lowered her voice."Tommy was planted in our department.Someone powerful enough to do that, to arrange my mother's murder, to get to Tommy in a secure holding cell—they're not going to play by the rules.So why should we?"

"Because the rules are what separates us from them."He reached across the table, taking her hand."Sheila, I want these bastards as much as you do.But if we start breaking laws to catch them, where does it end?"

The touch of his hand was warm, grounding.She thought of all the times he'd been her moral compass, keeping her from crossing lines she might regret.But this time...

"I can't live the rest of my life in fear," she said softly."I can't sit around wondering when they'll decide to strike again."

Finn was quiet for a long moment, his thumb tracing circles on her palm.Around them, the festival continued its chaotic dance—food trucks serving lunch crowds, filmmakers networking over coffee, tourists taking selfies with movie posters.The normality of it all felt surreal, given the nature of their conversation.

"What if there's another way?"he finally asked."What if we can connect Tommy's attempt on your life to his 'cardiac event' in custody?That would give us probable cause for a warrant."

"That could take days.The laptop could have evidence about who's behind all this, who ordered my mother's murder..."She leaned closer."Finn, I trust you.More than anyone.If you really think I'm wrong about this, I'll listen.But I need you to understand—this isn't just about justice anymore.It's about survival."

He studied her face, and she could see the conflict in his eyes.Finn believed in doing things right, in maintaining the integrity that had helped him survive his own dark past.It was one of the things she loved about him.But she also saw the moment his resolve wavered—not because she'd convinced him she was right, but because he understood what this meant to her.

"Give me twenty-four hours," he said finally."Let me try to get a warrant first.If I can't..."He took a deep breath."Then we'll talk about alternatives.But Sheila?"His eyes held hers."Promise me you won't do anything with that laptop until then.Promise me we do this together."

She thought about lying—it would be easier, safer, maybe.But their relationship was built on trust, on having each other's backs even when they disagreed.And hadn't she just told him she trusted him more than anyone else?

"I promise," she said."Twenty-four hours."And in the meantime, she would keep the laptop hidden in her truck where nobody would stumble across it.

Finn nodded, relief crossing his features."Thank you."

A fresh wave of festival-goers swept past their table, carrying paper cups of artisanal coffee and tote bags emblazoned with the names of independent production companies.Someone had set up a pop-up gallery nearby, displaying movie posters from the golden age of Hollywood.The images seemed to watch them—larger-than-life faces frozen in moments of drama, each telling a story that someone had carefully crafted.

"Two hours until the Q&A," Finn said, checking his watch."Want to see what else we can learn about Bradley Greenwald?"

Sheila stood, her decision made."Let's start with the festival staff.Someone must know more about 'The Winter Palace'—how the casting really went down, who was involved in those decisions."

They made their way through the crowd, past food trucks and vendor booths selling everything from vintage film equipment to locally made jewelry.A woman in cat-eye glasses was leading a tour group, her voice carrying over the general buzz: "And this is where Robert Redford once stopped for coffee during the very first Peak Mountain Film Festival..."

Sheila barely heard her.Her mind was already racing ahead to the Q&A session, to the questions she needed to ask Bradley Greenwald.Because something about all this felt staged, choreographed—like a scene from a movie where everyone knew their lines except her.

And she was tired of being left in the dark.

CHAPTER FIVE

They found Carl Rider in the festival's makeshift press room, a converted storefront space filled with journalists typing on laptops and filmmakers giving interviews in hushed tones.Monitors on the walls displayed screening schedules and promotional clips from featured films.The room smelled of coffee and anxiety.

---