I took a deep breath and opened the most recent date; inside was an MP4 file. I scrubbed my face with my hand and opened the file.
The first thing I saw was a grainy image of what I guessed was Mila waiting for the elevator. It went on for five minutes, without any audio. I watched as the young woman turned and walked out of the camera’s view.
There were a few seconds of nothing but black which then cut directly to the stairwell. I held my breath again, watching as the scene Mila had described, played out on my computer screen. I stood, unable to sit still, but kept my eyes on the screen. This part contained audio, which only made it more horrific.
When Mila’s father rushed into the scene, I leaned forward and increased the volume.
As Mila had said, he screamed at her to go to her office and wait. The video wasn’t as grainy as that of her waiting for the elevator, but it was enough so I couldn’t see her face, and for that, I was glad.
Mila’s father grabbed the man by the throat and ripped the ski mask from his head.
The man laughed, followed by “She looks just like her—” Judd swung and hit the man in the mouth. He stumbled backward, but that didn’t stop him. “Just like her mother. Just like her. A slut born of a slut.”
Judd grabbed him again and held him by the throat. “The difference is, you made her mother a slut.”
“Difference?” The man cackled. “It was the best revenge of all, that you didn’t believe her. I blew up your fucking miserable life, and the daughter you thought was yours…”
It was Judd’s turn to laugh. “You’re wrong. I knew from the minute she was born that Sybil wasn’t mine.”
“You’re the same fucking liar you’ve always been, Knight.”
I watched as Judd pummeled the man and then pushed him out of the frame; the screen went black.
Fighting back the bile that came up in my throat, I wiped my mouth with my shirt sleeve. If Sybil had swallowed the flash drive in an effort to keep her killer from getting his hands on it, it was likely she’d seen the video.
I closed the file and opened the second folder. Inside were over two hundred jpg photo files, all dated ten days before I found Sybil dying on the side of the road—which meant she’d somehow gotten her hands on the original files and photographed them.
I opened and zoomed in on the first one, which was a cover sheet for a patent application. Randomly opening several more, I saw some contained text, others drawings. Finally, I clicked on and opened the only document that mattered—the page that would prove that the original patents were prepared to be filed by Marshall Livingston.
A quick online search provided proof of the second half of what I assumed. United States Patent URE47,825 listed the inventor as Knight, Judson A, and the Assignee, Knighthawk Corporation, Austin, Texas.
It wasn’t difficult for me to piece together a theory as to what had got Sybil killed. She’d somehow gotten her hands on not just the documents that proved Judd Knight had stolen Livingston’s designs, but also the video of Mila’s attack.
The unan
swered questions now were, had she found this evidence on her own and attempted to blackmail either her father or Livingston, or both? And which one killed her for it?
What I did know for certain, though, was that Adler Livingston’s father, Marshall, was the man who’d attacked Mila. Which brought up yet another question. How much did Adler know?
31
Mila
If I’d thought I felt like I was ready to crawl out of my skin before, it was nothing compared to how I felt now. Decker had been in the office for almost an hour. That had to mean the flash drive wasn’t damaged when Sybil swallowed it and that there was something significant on it. Right? Would he have been in there that long if there wasn’t? I felt weird hanging out in the kitchen, so I walked over to the living room and pulled a book from the shelf.
It was one I’d noticed the first time I perused his collection, and was fascinated that it was one of only a couple of fiction books mixed in with several historical and ranching non-fiction hardbacks.
The title was The Confessions of Max Tivoli. It was about a man whose mind ages normally, but is born with the withered body of a seventy-year-old. As his body ages in reverse, he manages to cross paths with a woman who captures his heart three different times—giving him three chances for true love.
A number of theories ran through my mind about why Decker would own such a book. First, and most unlikely, was that he was a hopeless romantic. Second was that someone had given it to him as a gift, which I found equally unlikely. And third, perhaps the books on his shelves were merely for show and he didn’t realize he had it.
I sat on the sofa, opened the cover, and was shocked to see that it was signed with a personal message to him from the author.
Decker—
Pay attention the first time. Don’t make the same mistakes I did.
—A Greer