Chapter 5 - Unearthing the Past
The morning surgery took four hours.
When I drifted out of the heavy, chemical fog of general anesthesia, the world was blurry and muted. The searing pain in my shoulder had been replaced by a heavy, immovable numbness—the surgical nerve block doing its job. My right arm was strapped across my chest in a rigid, padded abduction sling, held secure by thick velcro straps that felt like armor.
Caleb was still there.
He was sitting in the corner armchair of the private room, his laptop open on his knees, a half-empty cardboard cup of black coffee on the table beside him. He looked exhausted; dark stubble shadowed his jawline, and the crisp collar of his scrub shirt was wrinkled. But when he saw my eyelids flutter, he set the computer aside instantly and walked to my bedside.
"Hey," he said, his voice a low, soothing rasp. "You're back."
"Did... did it go okay?" I managed to slur, my tongue feeling twice its normal size.
"The surgeon said it went as well as it possibly could," Caleb answered, reaching over to press the button to raise the head of my bed by a few inches. "He repaired the labrum, reset the anchors, and closed the tendon tears. But you’re strictly off-limits from using that arm for three months minimum."
"Three months..." I groaned, closing my eyes. "My design studio. My clients. Caleb, I have three brand-identity contracts due by the end of next month."
"I already called your junior associate, Marcus," Caleb said calmly. "I told him you had an emergency procedure. I hired a freelance production assistant on my own dime to handle your asset rendering and day-to-day clerical work under your direction. Your business isn't going under, Tessa. I won't let it."
I looked at him, confused and overwhelmed. "Why are you doing all this? You don't owe me anything. You were supposed to be on a flight to Bali today."
Caleb leaned against the metal bed rail, looking down at his hands. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the rhythmic rhythmic pulse of the heart monitor.
"Because the more I look into Lena’s life over the last twelve hours, the more I realize how deeply complicit I was in ignoring her cruelty," he said quietly.
"What did you find?"
Caleb pulled a manila folder from the desk behind him and laid it gently on the edge of the blanket.
"Last night, after you went into prep, I went back to the loft we shared," Caleb said, his jaw tightening. "I had two off-duty officers accompany me so I could pack my things without an incident. Lena wasn't there—she was out at an upscale lounge in Manhattan with two of her bridesmaids, drinking champagne on my credit card."
He tapped the folder with his index finger.
"I found her desk unlocked. I was looking for the deed to our upstate cabin, but I found her financial records instead. Tessa... do you remember six months ago, when you lost your position as senior art director at the Vanguard Agency?"
My breath hitched. The memory was an open wound that had never fully healed. "Of course I remember. Someone sent an anonymous email to the executive board from an encrypted proton mail account, claiming that I had leaked proprietary client campaign pitches to our direct competitor. Vanguard fired me on the spot. I lost my healthcare, my salary, my reputation. That’s why I had to go freelance."
"It wasn't an anonymous competitor," Caleb said, his voice dropping into a register of cold fury. "It was Lena."
My heart hammered violently against my ribs. "What?"
"I found the export logs on her backup drive," Caleb explained, opening the folder to reveal printed screenshots of email server paths and IP address verifications. "She used a VPN routed through our home Wi-Fi to send those files. She stole the campaign briefs off your laptop when you stayed at our place for Thanksgiving weekend. She framed you, Tessa. She destroyed your career."
Tears pricked behind my eyelids, but this time they weren't tears of grief—they were born of pure, unadulterated shock. "Why? Why would she do that to me? I was helping her! I designed her entire wedding stationery suite for free! I spent weeks on her bridal branding!"
"Because Vanguard was about to promote you to partner," Caleb said, looking directly into my eyes. "And you would have been making more money than her. You would have had a title that she couldn't match. She couldn't stomach the thought of you succeeding in the same city where she considered herself the star."
He paused, his eyes darkening further.
"And that’s not all," he added. "The hit-and-run that injured your shoulder in the first place, six months ago... the one outside the gym on 14th Street?"
A cold chill ran down my spine, freezing the blood in my veins. "Caleb, stop. Don't tell me..."
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"The police never found the driver because it was an unregistered rental car," Caleb continued, pulling out a printout of an Enterprise car rental receipt. "Rented under Chloe’s credit card, but billed directly to Lena’s corporate account. The timeline matches the exact hour you were struck in the crosswalk."
***
