Newswave

Chapter 6 - THE FILE MARKED REBECCA

The basement contained another name I recognized.

Rebecca Sloan.

Adrian’s former fiancée.

He told me she left him ten years before we met.

According to Adrian, Rebecca had been selfish.

Unfaithful.

Obsessed with money.

The family never discussed her.

Now her name sat inside a basement file.

Police found her in Portland.

She agreed to speak.

Rebecca had owned a townhouse in San Jose.

Charles wanted her to pledge it against a Harrington Development loan.

She refused.

Eleanor began calling her ungrateful.

Adrian accused her of not trusting him.

Then one evening at a family cabin, Adrian shoved her against a wall during an argument.

Not hard enough to hospitalize her.

Hard enough to frighten her.

The next morning, Charles presented a loan document.

Rebecca left instead.

She never reported Adrian.

Why?

Because Adrian’s family told everyone she had cheated.

By the time Rebecca realized what was happening, their social circle already believed she had broken the engagement.

She moved.

Started over.

Never looked back.

Until Ruiz called.

Rebecca sent one email she had saved.

From Eleanor.

YOU WALKED AWAY FROM A FAMILY THAT OFFERED YOU EVERYTHING.

ONE DAY YOU WILL UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU THREW AWAY.

Rebecca’s response had been one sentence.

I WALKED AWAY BEFORE YOU COULD TAKE WHAT WAS MINE.

I read that line repeatedly.

She had escaped earlier than Maya.

Earlier than me.

Then Rebecca revealed something Adrian had never told me.

The plate was not his first violent incident involving dinnerware.

At the cabin, he had thrown a glass against the wall beside her head.

“Did he apologize?”

I asked through Ruiz.

Rebecca laughed bitterly.

“For breaking the glass.”

Not for frightening her.

That sounded like Adrian.

Specific enough to avoid the larger truth.

The pattern became clearer.

His family created pressure.

Adrian acted as the physical edge.

Then everyone minimized the event.

A misunderstanding.

A temper.

A private matter.

May you like

Until me.

Until blood hit the tablecloth and I called 911 while twenty people watched.

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