Chapter 6 - The Person We Trusted
Her name was Diane Foster.
Tessa called her Aunt Diane.
She wasn’t actually family.
She had been Sarah’s closest friend.
After Sarah died, Diane became part of our lives.
Birthdays.
Christmas.
School concerts.
Emergency pickups.
She had a key to my house because there were times Tessa needed someone when I was working.
When Ramirez told me Diane’s name, I rejected it immediately.
“There’s a mistake.”
“I wish there were.”
Bank records connected Diane to Wade.
Small payments.
Spread across months.
“What does she want?”
“We don’t know.”
I looked toward Tessa’s bedroom.
“Where is Diane?”
“We’re looking.”
I went upstairs.
Tessa was awake.
I told her.
She cried.
Not loudly.
That somehow made it worse.
“She loved Mom.”
“I know.”
“She loves us.”
“I thought so.”
At 2:15 a.m., Diane turned herself in.
Her explanation was uglier because it wasn’t simple evil.
After Sarah’s death, Diane became convinced Black Ridge had somehow contributed to Sarah’s stress and illness.
It wasn’t rational.
Grief rarely is.
For years she resented me.
Then she learned Mason might be alive.
She began investigating my past.
Wade was supposed to gather information.
Nothing more.
But when Roland Kessler entered the picture, Wade saw an opportunity.
He began playing both sides.
He vandalized my shop.
He took the photograph of Tessa.
He wanted fear.
Fear created clients.
Clients created money.
Diane claimed she never authorized threats against Tessa.
Police believed parts of her account.
Not all of it.
I visited her only once.
She sat across from me in an interview room.
“I thought you were dangerous,” she whispered.
“I was.”
“I thought Sarah deserved better.”
“So did I.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“I never wanted Tessa hurt.”
“But you hired someone to follow us.”
She looked down.
“I wanted proof.”
“Of what?”
“That you were still that man.”
I leaned back.
“And did you find it?”
She looked at me.
“No.”
That was the tragedy.
She had spent years searching for the monster I had worked eleven years to stop being.
And in trying to prove he existed, she had created one herself.
Wade faced multiple charges related to stalking, threats, vandalism, and other conduct uncovered during the investigation.
Roland faced separate scrutiny over his company’s practices.
Diane faced consequences too.
I didn’t celebrate any of it.
Consequences aren’t revenge.
That was something Travis needed to learn.
Something Roland needed to learn.
Maybe something I had needed to remember.
A week later, I reopened the shop.
People from town arrived before I did.
Someone brought donuts.
Someone repaired the sign.
Someone else had started a fundraiser without asking me.
I shut it down.
Tessa reopened it.
“We don’t need money.”
“It’s for the youth center.”
“What youth center?”
She smiled.
“The one you’re apparently starting.”
I stared at her.
Rourke laughed from across the garage.
“I voted yes.”
“There was a vote?”
“Unanimous.”
I looked around.
Black Ridge members were smiling.
Traitors.
Then a truck stopped outside.
Travis climbed out.
He carried lumber.
“What are you doing here?”
“Tessa said you need help.”
I looked at my daughter.
She shrugged.
“He owes the town.”
Travis placed the lumber down.
“Also, my dad froze my accounts.”
Rourke grinned.
“Welcome to employment.”
Travis looked horrified.
For the next six hours, the state kickboxing champion sanded old boards beside motorcycle mechanics.
Nobody asked for his autograph.
Nobody treated him like a celebrity.
For the first time, people treated him like everyone else.
And strangely, he seemed relieved.
Near sunset, Travis approached me.
“I want to ask you something.”
“No rematch.”
He almost smiled.
“Teach me.”
“You already know how to fight.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
I understood.
Before I could answer, three black SUVs entered the parking lot.
Everyone stopped.
Roland Kessler stepped from the middle vehicle.
Two attorneys followed.
Travis stiffened.
Roland looked at his son.
Then at me.
“We need to talk.”
“Talk.”
“Privately.”
“No.”
Roland glanced around.
“This concerns Travis.”
“Then Travis stays.”
His son crossed his arms.
For once, Roland couldn’t command him away.
Roland exhaled.
“My company is being investigated.”
“That sounds like your problem.”
“It is.”
He looked at Travis.
“And I made it his.”
Travis frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Roland removed a folder.
He handed it to his son.
Travis opened it.
His face drained of color.
“What the hell is this?”
Roland looked older than I had ever seen him.
“Your sponsorship money. Your properties. Your vehicles.”
“What about them?”
“They’re collateral.”
Travis stared at him.
“For what?”
Roland swallowed.
And for the first time, the billionaire’s voice shook.
May you like
“Everything.”
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