Chapter 10 - The Secret Behind Interstate 90
Three days after the arrests at the Meridian, Dela sat in the passenger seat of Gus’s armored black SUV as it rolled to a stop on the shoulder of Interstate 90.
The morning sun reflected brilliantly off the snow-covered banks of the drainage canal below.
The guardrail here was brand new, gleaming silver against the gray winter asphalt.
Seven years ago, this was where Elias’s car had broken through.
Dela stepped out of the vehicle, wrapped in a heavy camel-hair coat Gus had ordered for her, her boots crunching softly into the fresh powder.
Gus stepped out beside her, keeping a respectful three paces behind, his hands buried in the pockets of his overcoat, scanning the horizon to give her privacy.
Dela walked to the edge of the steel railing.
She looked down at the dark, frozen water beneath the ice.
For seven years, she had believed she was weak. She had believed that by hiding in the shadows, by carrying silver trays and taking insults from women like Margot Sinclair, she had failed Elias’s memory.
Now, she understood.
Survival wasn't weakness.
Patience wasn't defeat.
She pulled the blue fountain pen from her coat pocket.
She uncapped it.
She pulled a small, blank index card from her pocket and wrote four simple words across the crisp white surface:
The truth is told.
She pressed the card beneath a small stone beside the mile marker post, letting the cold December wind whip around her face.
Behind her, she heard Gus’s footsteps approach softly through the snow.
He stopped beside her, looking out over the vast expanse of the frozen valley.
“The federal prosecutor accepted Julian Sinclair’s plea bargain this morning,” Gus said quietly. “Julian confirmed that Detective Vance tampered with the brake lines before Elias left the port facility. Vance has been charged with capital murder.”
Dela closed her eyes. A single tear slipped down her cheek, freezing instantly against her skin.
“Thank you, Augustine,” she whispered.
Gus turned his head toward her. “I didn't do this for justice, Delilah. In my world, justice is a myth we tell people who don't have enough guns.”
“Then why did you do it?”
Gus reached out. His fingers, warm and calloused, brushed the cold tear from her cheek.
“Because the first morning you walked into my dining room seven months ago,” Gus said softly, “I watched you carry a tray with a broken shoe, looking like the whole world was trying to crush you... and you still held your head higher than anyone in that tower.”
He looked down at her swollen stomach, a faint, protective warmth softening the hard lines of his face.
“Come,” Gus said, offering her his arm. “It’s freezing out here. You need to get out of the cold.”
May you like
Dela looked at his arm.
Then, slowly, without hesitation, she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow.
