Chapter 9 - The Ghost in the Photos
The room went completely, suffocatingly quiet.
"Three other people?" Tara asked, her voice trembling.
Agent Carter leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "In 2008, before Clara Bennett, Leo was a twenty-two-year-old student at Western Kentucky University. He had a roommate named Samuel Davies. Samuel died of what was ruled an accidental overdose of prescription muscle relaxants. His mother received a small payout from a student life insurance plan—and signed half of it over to Leo to cover 'shared apartment debts'."
"My God," I whispered.
"In 2011," Carter continued, "Freya’s second husband, Arthur Finch, suffered a massive, unexplained stroke at their home in Louisville. He had changed his will six weeks prior, leaving everything to Freya, cutting out his biological children. Arthur was cremated within forty-eight hours."
"They're serial killers," Tara gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth. "They're a mother-and-son murder ring!"
"They are financial predators who weaponized domestic trust," Carter corrected coldly. "They don't kill for passion. They kill to balance their books. And they've been doing it for nearly two decades."
The magnitude of what I had survived pressed down on my chest like a boulder.
I hadn't just survived a bad marriage. I hadn't just survived an abusive mother-in-law. I had lived in a slaughterhouse for four years, sleeping beside a monster who kissed me goodnight and counted down the days until my organs failed.
"We need your formal deposition, Judith," Detective Miller said gently. "The grand jury is convening on Thursday. We want to indict Leo and Freya on multiple counts of conspiracy to commit capital murder, wire fraud, forgery, and federal distribution of regulated toxins."
"I'll testify," I said without a single second of hesitation. "I'll sit in that courtroom in a wheelchair if I have to. I'll look them in the eyes and tell the jury every single time he handed me that mug."
"Good," Carter said, standing up. "Because tomorrow morning, we're bringing you to the grand jury room via secure medical transport. Leo’s defense will argue diminished capacity or accidental cross-contamination from his landscaping business. Your voice is the nail in their coffin."
After the investigators left, Tara helped me sit up higher in the bed.
The pain in my legs was intensifying—a raging, white-hot fire that felt as though boiling oil was being poured beneath my skin. Dr. Thorne increased my non-opioid nerve pain medication, explaining that narcotics wouldn't touch neuropathic regeneration.
"You need to rest, Jude," Tara whispered, smoothing back my hair. "You've been through a war."
"I can't rest, Tara," I said, staring at my bare feet resting against the white sheet. "Look."
Tara looked down.
Slowly, agonizingly, with a concentrated effort that made sweat break out across my forehead, the big toe on my left foot twitched upward.
Just a fraction of an inch.
Tara let out a choked cry, clapping her hands over her mouth, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Judith... you moved it!"
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"He didn't kill me," I whispered, the fire in my nerves matching the cold, burning resolve in my heart. "And he is not going to take my life."
***
