I’ve been taking blood money for five years. Every bonus. Every late-night meal. Every puppy gift package for my dead father.
All of it bought with bodies.
“Thank you, sir.” The words stick in my throat. They taste like bile.
He shuts the door and knocks on the hood three times.
The Uber pulls away from the curb.
I watch the building disappear in the rearview mirror. The 1880s limestone. The iron gates. The windows dark except for one light on the fourth floor.
Dom’s office. Where he’s probably making calls right now. Arranging the disposal. Checking alibis. Raising his prices.
Five years I’ve worked there. Five years of thinking I was doing defense work. Building my career. Learning from the best.
And I was helping him cover up murders the whole time.
How many? How many women died while I color-coded timelines and organized witness statements and made Dom’s job easier?
I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.
“He’s got a weird vibe,” the driver says. Her eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. That look women share when they recognize something’s off.
I snort. “Weird doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
But she gets it. She felt it too. I’m not crazy. I’m not paranoid.
Women always know.
As she drives away, I open my phone. My hands are shaking so badly I almost drop it.
I open my journal app. The one with password protection and cloud backup. The one no one knows about. The one that syncs across all my devices.
This is going to trial someday. I don’t know when. I don’t know how. But it will.
And when it does, I’ll have every detail.
I write everything.
Every word he said. Every detail about Dahlia—or was it the club’s name? The blonde hair, blue eyes, tight little body. The fur coat. The cigarette on the stoop. The alley. The assault. The strangulation. Her body dropping.
I did it again.
I don’t know how this keeps happening, Dom.
Serial killer. Multiple victims.
Dom’s cleanup plan. “My guy” for the cameras. The Denny’s alibi. Stay until four. “What I do best.”
Prices are going up.
A criminal enterprise. Body disposal for hire.
Do not go near her.
I write it exactly as it happened. Timestamps—approximately 2:00 a.m., fourth floor, Dom’s office. Dialogue as close as I can remember. The confession. The cover-up. Everything.
Because I have no idea what I’m going to do with this information.
