Page 126 of The Devil of Downtown

He continues, “On the night it happened, Brody West waspresentduring the crash on Ridgeway Pass—but he was not the driver. He wasn’t even in the front seat.”

A muscle in my cheek twitches.

Eric lays out a set of grainy stills—gas station timestamps, license plate fragments, the blurred front of a black BMW.Then, a map of the pass, marked with impact points and skid trajectories.

“That night, West was in the backseat,” Eric says, voice steady. “High. Out of it. The car was being driven by Rocco D’Arienzo—or possibly one of his men. Witness accounts conflict, but the consensus is clear: Brody wasn’t behind the wheel.”

My stomach twists. Not relief. Not fury. Something darker—something that doesn’t know where to land.

Julian leans forward. “Who else was in the car?”

“Two of Rocco’s enforcers,” Eric answers. “Both with records. Both connected to the same mid-tier syndicate we’ve been tracing. They were driving recklessly—high speed, aggressive lane changes—likely trying to intimidate or outrun someone. Brody was too high to stop them or comprehend what was happening.”

My hands clench.

Eric flips another page to a mugshot of Rocco, then a list of his known associates. “When they forced Helena Reed’s Audi off the road, they panicked. Rocco orchestrated the cover-up. Threatened the scrapyard owner who crushed the car. Paid off a responding officer who later moved abroad with an inexplicably large pension. Ensured Brody stayed silent.”

Julian goes pale.

I feel... hot, burning. Like my skin doesn’t fit.

Eric keeps going, quieter now. “Brody wasn’t the perpetrator. He was the liability. Rocco kept him close afterward—mostly through intimidation. West had been involved in their drug operations for months. Debt, dependence, manipulation. Classic syndicate leverage.”

“And Ivy?” I force out. Her name feels heavier in my throat than it should.

Eric looks directly at me. “As far as we are aware, she had no involvement. She wasn’t with him that night. West ended hisrelationship with her less than two weeks later. It fits a familiar behavioral pattern—guilt, fear of exposure, and distancing himself from the person most likely to piece the truth together.”

Something sharp twists through my chest. Not relief—something messier. Something that doesn’t know which direction to land.

Eric hesitates. “There were early whispers. Photos of them together. Background speculation. I don’t know what the original press draft looked like, but the version that made it to print doesn’t include her. That omission wasn’t accidental.”

Julian and I exchange a look—becauseweknow who pulled those mentions.

But Eric doesn’t. And shouldn’t.

He continues, “All I can say is the leak came from criminal circles, not the press itself. Someone wanted this stirred up now.”

Eric straightens the file. “That’s everything I have at this stage. I’m continuing to dig, but the core facts won’t change.”

Julian nods once. “Alright, Eric. We’ll be in touch. You can go.”

The silence afterward is stifling.

Julian watches me, waiting for the explosion he knows is coming.

My pulse feels like it’s trying to break out of my throat. Relief flickers for half a second—relief that Ivy wasn’t there, that she had no role.

But the relief evaporates instantly under the weight of everything else.

She wasn’t there.

But she was tied to him.

She loved him once.

She lived with the man who destroyed my life.

Julian murmurs, “You need to calm down before you see her.”