Page 218 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
And on the third hour, the puzzle pieces fell into place. The door swung open, and the ‘appropriate authority’ walked in.
Brandon Vu.
Since I didn’t get a note this morning, or yesterday morning, or the morning before that, or the morning before that… I’ve decided to be proactive and leave you one.
Before you ask, no, I will not come back to you.
Emery
P.S. You’re a bad stitch job that can’t be undone. No matter how hard I try to untangle us, we become messier than when we began.
Bile chased my breath.
I chugged half a bottle of water, hoping it'd make me less queasy.
Nope.
Still a quarter second from spewing my empty stomach all over the floor.
I’d felt this way since realizing Nash had kept a ledger that could exonerate my Dad for almost eight years. I’d gone through every scenario, trying to justify it, but Ceiling always cut through the bullshit.
I tried again.
“Maybe he thought Dad participated in the scandal?”
Ceiling: You are worse than a broken record. At least record players can be turned off. Let me say it slower this time—he took you to see your Dad. Repeatedly. Why would he do that if he thought your dad was guilty?
“Maybe he lost the ledger since then?”
Ceiling: Really? This again? Hun, people lose things like their virginity or their car keys. People don't lose evidence in famous fraud cases unless it’s on purpose. Because you’re particularly dimwitted, let me spell that out for you—I’m talking about destroying evidence.
“Maybe he’s keeping it to ask me what to do with it?”
Ceiling: And in the almost eight years since he had it, has he ever once asked you what you want to do about it? On second thought, don’t answer that. You have conversations with inanimate objects. I wouldn’t put it past you to hallucinate conversations with Nash, too.
“If he's innocent, I shouldn’t have left that letter on his door. He didn't show up to our date, so I couldn't even confront him about the ledger like I'd planned. Then, he sent me straight to voicemail the fifty billion times I called him. And he hasn't brought me my lunch or notes in days.”
My emotions exceeded a single word, so I hadn’t bothered printing a new t-shirt since he left. I wore a plain t-shirt, feeling so unlike myself, it was almost embarrassing.
Office gossip placed Nash with Delilah in Singapore for a meeting.
I’d believed it… until I spotted Delilah yesterday, walking down the hallway, coffee cup in hand. When I asked her about Nash, she seemed surprised I hadn’t seen him, mentioning he’d flown in before her and she hadn't seen him since either.
I checked the flight logs for all the local airports, then all the ones in the state. Every direct and connecting flight from Singapore in the past five days had arrived.
Ceiling: Obviously, he's avoiding you. He deserved that note.
My feet dragged across the carpet with each step. I had carpet burns on them from pacing. Still, I sprinted to the door at the knock and swung it open.
Nash.
Relief swept through me like a current. The violent kind that pummeled your body, pulled you under, and dragged you places you didn’t want to go.
He waved a sheet of paper, looking more exhausted than I’d ever seen him. Frankly, a little smelly, too. His eyes dipped to my shirt, noticed nothing on it, and returned to my face.
A frown turned his lips down. “Before you speak, I wrote you a letter. This was before I got your letter, by the way, but I still mean every word of mine. I want to see your face when you read it.”
I traced him with my eyes, cataloging the wrinkled button-down, abandoned suit jacket, and slacks that had lost their pleating.
