The boss closed his eyes.
The detective continued.
“But there’s something else.”
“What?”
“The senator’s driver from nine years ago.”
The boss opened his eyes.
“What about him?”
“He wants to talk.”
They met at a law office.
The former driver was seventy now.
Hands trembling.
He looked at the boss.
“I should have spoken years ago.”
The boss did not answer.
The man continued.
“The senator met the chairman the night your sister died.”
“Where?”
“A private club.”
“What time?”
“About ten.”
The boss felt cold.
His sister died shortly after midnight.
“Then?”
“They left separately.”
The former driver swallowed.
“The senator told me to follow your sister’s car.”
The room went quiet.
The boss leaned forward.
“Why?”
“He said she had stolen documents.”
“Did you follow her?”
“Yes.”
“Did you touch her vehicle?”
“No.”
“Did anyone?”
The driver closed his eyes.
“I don’t know.”
The boss’s hands tightened.
The nurse, seated beside him, touched his wrist.
A small gesture.
Enough.
The former driver continued.
“She stopped near the river.”
“The chairman arrived.”
“They argued.”
“Did he touch her?”
“Yes.”
The boss became still.
“He grabbed both wrists.”
The nurse’s hand tightened around his.
The same marks.
The driver continued.
“She pulled away.”
“Got back into her car.”
“The chairman followed.”
The boss’s voice was barely audible.
“Then?”
“I lost them at a light.”
“Twenty minutes later we heard about the crash.”
The boss stared.
“You never told police.”
The driver cried.
“I had a daughter.”
“The senator said if I spoke, I would lose everything.”
The boss wanted to hate him.
Part of him did.
Another part understood fear too well now.
“Did the senator order her killed?”
The driver shook his head rapidly.
“I never heard that.”
“Did the chairman?”
“I don’t know.”
“So we still don’t know whether the crash was intentional.”
“No.”
The boss leaned back.
Nine years.
Still no perfect answer.
But now the truth had shape.
His sister had uncovered fraud.
The chairman had intimidated her.
The senator had helped move money.
Men followed her.
She drove away terrified.
Then she crashed.
Intentional sabotage might someday be proven.
Maybe not.
But the official story that nothing preceded the wreck was dead.
That mattered.
The senator resigned two weeks later.
He claimed health reasons.
Nobody believed him.
Investigators later charged him with financial crimes and obstruction unrelated to the cause of the crash.
The boss watched the announcement from his office.
The driver stood nearby.
“You expected to feel better.”
“Yes.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
The driver nodded.
“Me neither.”
The boss looked toward the photograph of his sister on the shelf.
Twenty-seven years old forever.
He whispered:
“She was right.”
“About what?”
“She knew something was wrong.”