The diner was exactly the kind of place where nobody paid attention to.
Perfect for a clandestine meeting.
I arrived fifteen minutes early, ordered coffee and watched the door. My burner phone sat on the table in front of me, Sarah's last text still on the screen: I'm five minutes out. Sit somewhere private.
I'd chosen a booth in the back corner, away from the windows.
The bell above the door chimed and a woman entered.
Sarah Rodriguez scanned the diner, spotted me, and headed over.
She extended her hand. Her grip was firm, businesslike. "Thanks for meeting me again. I know this whole situation must be... overwhelming."
"That's one word for it." I wrapped my hands around my coffee cup, needing something to do with them.
Okay listen Elena "I'll help you find the truth. Whatever that truth is." Sarah's eyes met mine. "But I need you to understand something: if we're going after a US Senator, we need to be absolutely meticulous. One mistake, one piece of questionable evidence, and they'll bury us in defamation lawsuits."
"I understand."
"Good." She swiped through several screens. "Now, tell me everything your father told you. Don't leave anything out."
I spent the next twenty minutes recounting my prison visit with Vincent. The explosion at Riverside. The fourteen deaths. The Cross family being murdered. Senator Brighton called Vincent, warning him about an "incident." The cover-up that followed falsified reports, bribed coroners, and buried evidence.
Sarah took notes on her tablet, occasionally interrupting with questions.
"Did your father give you specific dates?"
"Just that the explosion was years ago."
"That's helpful. We can narrow down chemical plant incidents in New Jersey from that time period." She made another note. "What about the Senator? Did your father say why Brighton wanted the Cross family eliminated?"
"He said they were environmental lawyers investigating Castellano Industries. That they were about to testify before a grand jury."
"About What specifically?"
I wrapped my arms around myself. "He said Brighton told him there was a 'network' that needed protection. That the Cross investigation would bring down multiple companies."
Sarah's eyes sharpened. "A network. That suggests organized conspiracy, not just one company's negligence."
"That's what I thought."
"Okay." She set down the tablet. "Here's what we're dealing with: Your father's testimony is crucial, but right now it's just words. Hearsay. We need documentation."
"He said he falsified reports, paid off the coroner. Isn't that enough?"
"Not without proof. We need the actual falsified reports. Bank records showing the payments. Names of everyone involved." Sarah leaned back. "And here's the problem: your father told you all this verbally during a prison visit. Unless you recorded it"
"I didn't. I didn't even think to."
"Then legally, we have nothing. It's your word against a US Senator's. Who do you think a jury will believe?"
The hope that had been building in my chest deflated. "So what do I do?"
"We go back."
I stared at her. "Back to the prison?"
"Yes. With proper recording equipment this time." Sarah pulled a small device from her bag, something that looked like a pen but clearly wasn't. "This is a digital recorder. Audio quality is excellent, the battery lasts six hours. Pennsylvania is a one-party consent state, which means you can legally record conversations you're part of without telling the other person."
"You want me to record my father?"
"I want you to get his testimony properly documented in detail" Sarah's expression was sympathetic but firm. "I know you just saw him. I know this is painful. But if we're going to build a case against Senator Brighton, we need evidence that will hold up in court."
I thought about Vincent's face when I'd left him a few days ago. The exhaustion. The defeat. The way he'd said I'm so tired, Elena. So tired of carrying this.
"He might not want to talk about it again," I said quietly.
"Then we convince him. Elena, your father is already in prison. He's already paying for his crimes. But the man who actually ordered those murders? He's walking free. He's about to run for President." Sarah's voice was urgent now. "Don't you want justice? Not just for your family, but for the fourteen people who died? For their families?"
I thought of Damien. Of his parents and his sister burning to death while my father looked the other way. I thought of the eleven other workers whose names I didn't even know.
"Yes," I said. "I want justice."
"Then we need to do this right. We need airtight evidence." Sarah slid the recording device across the table. "Go back to the prison. Ask your father the same questions, but more specific. Get him to name names. Give dates. Describe the falsification process. Everything that happened in detail."
I picked up the device. "What if he refuses?"
"He won't. Not if you explain what's at stake." Sarah's eyes were steady on mine. "Your father loved your mother, right? And she died or disappeared trying to expose this conspiracy. Maybe that's your leverage. Tell him he owes it to Isabella to tell the full truth."
It felt manipulative. But it also felt necessary.
"Okay," I said. "I'll set up another visit."
"Good. The sooner the better." Sarah made more notes. "While you do that, I'll start pulling public records. Chemical plant incidents in New Jersey from the relevant time period. Any news coverage of Riverside. Information on Senator Brighton's business connections. We build the case from multiple angles."
"You made the right decision, Elena. Together, we're going to bring down some very powerful people."
"You sound confident."
"I am. Because powerful people always make the same mistake: they think they're untouchable. They get sloppy. They leave trails." She started packing up her things. "Senator Brighton has been covering up crimes for decades, according to your father. That means there are decades of trails to follow. We just need to find them."
I wanted to believe her. God, I wanted to believe that this nightmare could end with justice instead of more loss.
"What should I do after I get the recording?" I asked.
"Send it to me in an encrypted email, I'll give you the address. Don't keep it on your phone or any device that could be traced back to you." "And Elena? Be careful. If your father is right about Senator Brighton, this is a dangerous man. He's already ordered murders. He won't hesitate to do it again if he feels threatened."
"I know."
Sarah looked like she wanted to ask more questions but thought better of it. "Okay. But if that situation changes, if you need help, you call me. Understood?"
"Understood."
"Good." She stood up, leaving a twenty-dollar bill on the table for both our coffees. "Set up that prison visit. Record everything. And Elena? Don't tell anyone else what you're doing."
The fewer people who know about this investigation, the safer you are."
I nodded, though a small voice in the back of my mind wondered: Was it already too late for that? Damien knew I was investigating. He knew I'd found my mother's documents. He knew about Riverside.
But Sarah didn't need to know that. Not yet.
"I'll be in touch," I said.
Sarah nodded and headed for the door. I watched her go, this woman who might be my salvation or might be just another person who'd end up disappointed by how little I could actually prove.
I sat in the booth for a long time after she left, holding the recording device, trying to convince myself this was the right thing to do.
Going back to Vincent. Interrogating him. Recording his confession.
It felt like a betrayal. But then again, so did everything lately.
My father had betrayed me by covering up murders. My mother had betrayed me by faking her death. Damien had betrayed me by taking me prisoner in the first place.
Maybe I was just returning the favor. Maybe betrayal was all we had left to give each other.
I finally left the diner as the sun was setting.
I called the prison and requested another visit with Vincent Castellano. The earliest available slot was in two days.
"I'll take it," I said.
I walked to the subway feeling something I hadn't felt in a long time: purpose.
Maybe hope was too strong a word. But purpose? That I could manage.
I had a plan. I had an ally. I had a recording device that might finally get me the truth.
And for the first time since finding my mother's letter, I felt like I wasn't just surviving.
I was fighting back.
So I walked into the subway station feeling something almost relieved.
And I told myself that this time, things would be different.
This time, I wouldn't be the victim.
This time, I'd win.