“You’re sure you didn’t move it?” he asked.
I let out a slow breath. “Matt.”
“I have to ask.”
“I didn’t move it. I didn’t rename it. I didn’t accidentally drag it into some mystery folder labeled ‘taxes 2018.’ It was there.”My throat tightened. “And now it isn’t. I don’t mean to snap at you. I’m sorry. This is just frustrating and it’s freaking me out.”
He nodded once, absorbing that. His jaw worked slightly, the way it did when he was choosing what to say next. “You took it down from the podcast yourself,” he said carefully.
“Yes. I deleted it from the platform.” I wrapped both hands around my cup, more for something to hold than for the heat. “But I saved the original recording on my laptop. I always do. That’s just normal for me, to keep a backup.”
“And that’s the one that’s gone,” he reconfirmed.
“Yes.” The word felt heavier the second time.
Matt reached for the mouse and clicked through the folders again, even though we both knew he’d already looked. The episode before it was there. The one after it was there. Everything else sat exactly where it belonged.Surgical.That was the word that kept circling in my head.
He straightened slowly. “There was no sign of forced entry on the trailer,” he said, mostly to himself.
“That doesn’t mean someone wasn’t inside,” I replied quietly. “Maybe it was Travis. Could it be him? I?—”
“Maybe.” His eyes flicked to mine. He didn’t argue. “But I doubt it. He’s a worthless piece of crap, but I don’t think he’s the type to break into your place.”
He was probably right. Travis wasn’t subtle or careful. Travis left marks. But someone who worked for the mayor understood the importance of a paper trail and had learned to smile at city council meetings and call it “community outreach”.Thatperson might know exactly how to erase a file without leaving fingerprints. I didn’t say this out loud.
“About all of this. I don’t understand the point,” I said. “If someone wanted to hurt me, why delete it? Why not just leave it? Or confront me? Or—I don’t know—do something dramatic.”I let out a brittle laugh. “Deleting a file and leaving stupid little comments doesn’t exactly scream mastermind.”
“It screams clean-up,” Matt said evenly. “It screams, gutless turd. So, maybe it was Travis,” he muttered to himself. “I won’t rule him out. You’re right to think of him.”
The word settled between us.Clean-up.As in, something happened that night. As in, someone didn’t want a record of it.
I swallowed. “But doing this draws attention. It would bring more suspicion. If there’s something shady happening out there, why would anyone risk that?”
“People don’t always think long-term,” he said. “Sometimes they panic.”
“Over what? I didn’t even say anything specific.”
“You recorded something you weren’t supposed to see. That they obviously didn’t want anyone to know about.” His tone was steady, but there was steel underneath it. “That might be enough.”
I looked down at the laptop screen, at the empty space where the file should have been, and felt that hollowness in my gut again. This wasn’t a glitch. It wasn’t me misplacing something. It wasn’t my imagination running wild in the dark. It was deliberate.
Matt stepped closer and rested his hands on the counter. “You can stay with me. And yes, I will probably say it every time I see or talk to you. Deal with it.”
I didn’t answer right away. “I’m okay,” I said finally. “Especially with Levi right there.”
“Okay. I’m just worried. And I want you to know I mean it—my door is always open for you. But, yeah, you will be okay, and he’ll make sure you’re safe. I’m going back to the station. I’ll figure this out, I promise.” He grabbed his keys from the counter and squeezed my shoulder on his way to the door. “Lock up behind me. Call me if anything feels off. Anything at all. I meanit. I’ll come back here and pick you up. Say the word. Promise me.”
“I will call you. I promise.”
He paused at the door and looked back at me, his expression softening into something purely big brother again. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, Bec.”
I held his gaze. “I know. I mean, I know that now. Between you and Aggie, I know. I promise.”
He nodded once and stepped out into the cool morning, the sound of his boots on gravel fading as his truck door shut. The engine started.
I glanced toward the window between mine and Levi’s, the curtain next door shifting faintly in the breeze.
And for the first time since the file disappeared, I wasn’t just reacting. I was thinking about what I would do next.
