Chapter 8 - DEREK RUNS
Derek made it forty-six miles.
That was all.
He left his apartment with cash, a duffel, and enough panic to make every decision louder than it needed to be.
Police found him at a roadside motel near Fredericksburg after his car plate pinged a toll camera.
He was not charged with murder.
That distinction became important to Michael, even when relatives complained justice sounded insufficient.
The evidence did not show Derek intended Rebecca to die.
It showed something more ordinary and, in some ways, more frightening.
He intended to intimidate her.
He blocked her exit.
Grabbed her wrist.
Participated in withholding her phone.
Then helped delay emergency care because saving himself became more urgent than helping the woman he had helped injure.
Prosecutors built the case carefully.
Fraud.
Conspiracy.
Evidence tampering.
Obstruction.
Witness intimidation involving Lily.
Financial exploitation tied to Arthur’s assets.
And reckless conduct connected to Rebecca’s death.
Evelyn faced her own list.
Fraud.
Financial exploitation.
Evidence tampering.
Obstruction.
She cooperated.
Not nobly.
Strategically.
But truth provided for selfish reasons was still usable.
She gave investigators passwords.
Company records.
Account details.
Emails.
Columbia Holdings had received $174,000 over three years from entities associated with Derek’s work.
Evelyn described them as “repayments.”
Documents described them more accurately.
Money cycling out of Arthur’s accounts, through Derek’s failing businesses, into fraudulent Beacon Ridge contracts, and then back toward Evelyn.
Not an empire.
Not genius.
Just family entitlement scaled until it became criminal.
Victor Lang’s company fired Colin Voss and cooperated fully.
Beacon Ridge eventually recovered part of its losses through insurance and civil action. Victor personally wrote Michael a letter apologizing that Rebecca’s integrity had made her vulnerable inside an investigation no employee should have had to carry alone.
Michael appreciated the letter.
He hated it too.
Everything people said about Rebecca after death sounded like praise for qualities that had once irritated them while she was alive.
Persistent.
Uncompromising.
Sharp.
Ethical.
All the nicer names for a woman who refused to look away.
The original funeral never resumed.
Michael could not bear it.
The casket remained at the funeral home while police documented the phone and the family waited for a supplemental medical review. Two days later, Michael arranged a private burial.
Only Michael.
Lily.
Arthur.
Maya.
Rebecca’s parents.
Victor came but stood in the back.
Evelyn was not invited.
Derek was in custody.
Lily carried the doll.
Michael carried the two airport gift bags.
At the graveside, he opened the first.
The stuffed fox.
Lily pressed it against her chest beside the doll.
Then the second.
Rebecca’s music box.
Small.
Dark wood.
A silver turning key.
Michael had bought it before boarding his first flight home, thinking he would place it on Rebecca’s desk and complain that Seattle airport prices were criminal.
Instead he placed it beside her flowers.
Lily watched.
“Was that Mommy’s?”
“Yeah.”
“Will she get it?”
Michael almost broke.
He crouched.
“I think we keep it for her.”
Lily considered that.
Then nodded.
That night, she slept with the fox in one arm and the cloth doll in the other.
Michael sat outside her bedroom until nearly two.
Around midnight, she woke.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah?”
“Is Uncle Derek bad?”
Michael closed his eyes.
There were questions adults could complicate for hours that children needed made clean.
“He did bad things.”
“Does Grandma love him?”
“Yes.”
“Does Grandma love me?”
Michael’s throat tightened.
“I think she does.”
Lily looked confused.
“Then why did she tell me not to talk?”
Michael sat on the edge of the bed.
Because love and safety were not identical.
Because adults could love badly.
Because loyalty could become poison when people mistook protection from consequences for protection from harm.
He gave her the six-year-old version.
“Sometimes people love someone and still make very wrong choices because they’re afraid.”
Lily squeezed the doll.
“Mommy wasn’t afraid.”
Michael thought of Rebecca saying Move.
Thought of her starting the recording.
Thought of her message:
Come home ready to believe me.
“She was afraid,” he said softly. “She just told the truth anyway.”
Lily considered that.
Then she whispered:
“I want to be like Mommy.”
May you like
Michael looked at his daughter.
“Me too.”
