Chapter 8
“You don’t love me? Fine. Just say it. But that’s not an excuse for what you did.”
Bay sneered. “I don’t need
an
excuse. I just can’t stand you. That’s reason enough.”
My face turned cold. I let out a quiet laugh.
“So you were in the car that night, weren’t you? You’re the one who told judith to ram into those people–just to pin it on me.”
Bay straightened up in his seat, the facade of indifference cracking.
“That’s ridiculous. What proof do
you
have?”
“Oh, I have proof. I found a hair in the car. One that definitely wasn’t mine.”
“Impossible,” he snapped. “I was wearing a hat.”
Realizing his slip, he slammed the table and stood.
“You’re baiting me? I don’t think this ends with Judith in jail. There are still things you haven’t explained.”
That’s when it hit me. He had said before that I’d been in other accidents.
My heart went cold.
Sure enough, a few days later, the female officer called me with an update.
“The victims‘ families aren’t satisfied with Judith taking the fall. They believe you used your privilege to buy her off. And…” she hesitated, “someone dug up your past driving records. It looks like this wasn’t the first time your car was involved in an accident.” “What?” I was stunned. “I don’t remember ever being in a crash.”
“I believe you,” she said, her voice low and sincere. “But the investigation shows that your car’s been in multiple incidents. We even have a possible link to a missing person. But now that this case has opened up, we’re looking at all the previous ones too—with suspicion.”
My hands trembled.
I had no memory of these accidents, but Bay did.
I sent the officer the video I’d secretly recorded of our conversation in the café.
She replied: [It helps, but it’s not enough to indict him.]
Back at home, I found our front door in splinters. Property security had cordoned off the entrance after furious families smashed it to pieces.
I sat alone, digging into every memory I had of Bay, of the car, of any strange detail I might’ve missed.
Then I grabbed a notebook and began scribbling connections, tracking every instance Bay had borrowed my car.
There were plenty. And many of them coincided chillingly with the reported accident dates.
But each time, the car was returned spotless. No damage. No clue anything had gone wrong.
Until the police escalated the investigation.
Determined to answer to the public, they launched a full–scale operation, and dug up a tree near one of the crash sites.
Beneath it, they found not one, but multiple corpses.
People who had vanished. Buried there all along.
Now it was no longer about manslaughter. It was murder. Chapter &
The city was in uproar. Influence and money meant nothing now.
Surveillance footage from older cases was too grainy to be definitive. The driver’s silhouette resembled me, but after the hotel incident,
no one could say for sure anymore.
I remembered something. Bay’s favorite car repair shop. I gathered my nerve and paid them a visit.
The moment they saw my car, the owner recognized it instantly.
“This one? Yeah, it’s a regular. Breaks down all the time. Your boyfriend’s always bringing it in.”
My heart skipped, but I kept my face neutral.
“Was it always Bay who came in?”
“Not always. Usually, he brought a different girl with him each time. Funny thing though–every one of them kind of looked like you.”
A chill ran through my entire body.
Bay didn’t even like me. But he kept dating girls who looked like me.
He had them imitate me, dress like me, drive my car… and covered up the crashes.
This wasn’t coincidence. It was premeditated.
He’d been planning this for years to erase me without ever lifting a finger himself.
My voice shook. “Do you have security cameras? Could I see the footage?”
The owner thought I was just trying to catch a cheating boyfriend. After I slipped him a wad of cash, he happily obliged.
I left with hours of footage. And I sent every last second of it to the female officer.
She messaged back the next day.
[If this is real, Bay Clark is terrifying. All those girls in the video? They’ve all committed suicide.]
It felt like the ground gave out beneath me. I clutched my chest, forcing myself to breathe, to stay upright. My hands moved on their own. I sent the video directly to Bay.
