Page 23 of A Cobbled Conspiracy
“I watched him die.” Jake’s voice was flat, emotionless in the way that suggested he was fighting to maintain control. “I saw the blood—all that blood...”
The words hung between us like a physical presence. Whatever Jake had witnessed, whoever he thought he’d just seen, this wasn’t paranoia or imagination. This was the kind of bone-deep certainty that came from traumatic memory.
“Okay,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm and steady. “What do you want to do? Do you want to get out of here? Do you want to call Blake?”
Jake finally looked at me, and I saw something raw and vulnerable in his expression that he usually kept carefully hidden. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t know if I’m losing my mind or if?—”
He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to. If someone Jake had seen die was alive and walking around Downtown Millcrest, it meant either his memories were unreliable or something much more sinister was happening.
“Come on,” I said, gently taking his arm. “Let’s go home. We can figure this out somewhere safe.”
Jake nodded, allowing me to guide him down the street toward our pickup point. But I could feel the tension radiating from him, the way his eyes kept darting back toward the Italian restaurant as if expecting someone to emerge and confirm his worst fears.
Back at Blake’s apartment, Jake went straight to his room without a word, closing the door quietly behind him. I stood in the hallway for a moment, listening to the muffled sounds of him moving around—probably changing clothes, maybe lying down. The terror I’d scented from him during the walk home had faded somewhat—it now hung around him like a thin mist rather than the suffocating fog from before.
Blake was busy at his laptop as I entered the living room. “How did the meeting go?” He asked, without looking up.
“The commission discussion went well,” I said, setting my message bag containing Victor’s portfolio on the coffee table. “Victor and Sebastian are genuinely passionate about the project. No red flags there.”
“But?” Blake prompted, closing his laptop.
I shook my head. “It was okay, really. How’s Mayor Fairfax settling into office?"
Blake's expression was wry but not bitter. "About as well as you'd expect. I can’t fault her—I was hardly present for the finalstretch. Besides, she’s been helpful. Her first act as mayor was assisting Katherine in filing an emergency injunction.”
“What does that do?” I asked.
“Temporarily halts all demolition activity pending investigation of document fraud,” Blake said. “The injunction is holding for now, but Vertex has pivoted to increasing their harassment tactics. They can't demolish legally, so they're trying to force businesses to sell voluntarily through bureaucratic pressure and financial coercion."
“But the shops are safe for now?” I asked, feeling hope unfurl in my chest.
“For now,” Blake replied. “It’s bought us time.”
Penny emerged from his room carrying a mug and an empty plate, his cotton candy scent tinged with curiosity. “Why does Jake look like he’s seen a ghost? He’s so pale—well, paler than usual.”
“He might have,” I muttered, then immediately wished I’d chosen different words. “Sorry, poor phrasing. But something happened after we left the boutique.”
As Penny brewed some tea, I described Jake’s reaction to seeing the figure enter the Italian restaurant—the way all color had drained from his face, his insistence that he’d seen someone he’d watched die. Blake’s expression grew increasingly serious as I spoke.
“He said he watched this person die?” Blake asked.
“Those were his exact words. ‘I saw the blood—all that blood.’” I sank into the armchair, exhaustion from Jake’s secondhandterror finally hitting me. “He was terrified, Blake. Not just startled or confused—genuinely afraid.”
Penny set down the spoon he’d been using to stir his tea with a gentle clink. “Didn’t he say he watched his old boss shoot someone?”
I nodded. “A mob hit, I guess.” I looked toward the hallway where Jake’s room was. “He’s been carrying that trauma for months, and now he thinks he’s seeing a dead man alive and walking around our neighborhood.”
“There are a few possibilities here,” Blake said carefully. “Either Jake’s memories are faulty—trauma can do that—or he’s mistaken about who he saw, or…”
“Or someone he thought was dead is actually alive,” I finished. “Which raises some very uncomfortable questions about what really happened that night.”
Blake was quiet for a long moment. “Do you think Jake knows much about the background of his boss or the man who was murdered? You know, other than what he’s told us so far? Family connections, business associates? Things of that nature?”
"I don’t know. He's never mentioned relatives or close associates, and from what I understand, their relationship was..." I paused, trying to find the right words.
"Professional but distant. Jake did the booking and pastry work, but he witnessed conversations and meetings he shouldn't have. He wasn't part of the inner circle, but I think he saw more than they probably realized.”
“Jake cooked the books?” Blake asked, genuinely surprised.