Kashme Kartel FBI #4

A Whisper in the Dark

The headline glared at Kash Kartel from his tablet screen, stark and unrelenting:

"Assistant to Hospitalized Chief of Staff Dies in Apparent Suicide"

Kash’s fingers hovered over the screen, trembling slightly. The article detailed Sandy Gorman’s final moments, painting a picture of despair and guilt. Witnesses claimed she’d been consumed by grief over her role in Wiley Suzzi’s hospitalization, so much so that she’d thrown herself off The Outlook, the picturesque granite outcropping overlooking the ocean. The writer even imagined her haunting scream before she hit the rocks below.

A knot twisted in Kash’s stomach. He couldn’t bring himself to sip his coffee, which sat untouched, growing cold in the morning light. The world outside his penthouse was bright and bustling, but inside, the weight of the previous night smothered him like a lead blanket.

The article spun a tidy narrative—a clean, convenient lie. Kash had learned long ago that the truth was rarely as simple or as neat as a suicide note left by a tortured soul.

He let the tablet fall onto the table and leaned back, the memory of last night unfolding in his mind with brutal clarity.

The Bungalow

The Marauder roared as Kash sped along the winding roads, its 429-cubic-inch engine a growling beast beneath the hood. The Mercury was an odd relic in Kash’s otherwise sleek, modern lifestyle, but it suited nights like this. A symbol of raw power and unrelenting control, it was his ticket to anonymity.

He parked the car behind the bungalow, the secluded property hidden among coastal trees. The air was heavy with salt, and the faint sound of waves crashing against the shore provided a soundtrack to his nervous energy.

This wasn’t just any meeting. Sandy’s panicked calls and texts had made it clear she was unraveling. He couldn’t risk her spiraling further—not when so much was at stake.

The bungalow was Kash’s secret, a property buried in the trust of a senile client. He’d meticulously ensured it stayed hidden from the family, using it as his personal retreat. Tonight, it served as a fortress of solitude, a place where he could control the narrative.

When Sandy arrived, her mascara streaked down her cheeks, and her red-rimmed eyes told Kash everything he needed to know: she was a bomb ready to go off.

“Kash,” she choked out as she stepped out of her car.

“Sandy,” he said, his voice carefully calm. “Come inside.”

But she shook her head. “No. Let’s walk. I need air.”

He hesitated, then relented. He knew better than to force her when she was this unstable. Kash put his hands in his pockets as they began the fifteen minute walk to The Outlook, nothin but the roar of the ocean broke the silence as they walked.

The Outlook was eerily quiet, the moon shrouded behind thick clouds. The granite outcropping stretched above the ocean, its rugged beauty diminished by the tension crackling between them.

Sandy stopped at the bench at the edge, collapsing onto it like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Kash sat beside her, the wood creaking faintly under their weight.

She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving with silent sobs.

“They’re going to find out,” she whispered finally. “They’re going to see the video. Not just Junior’s part. Mine.”

Kash tensed. “Sandy—”

“I put the mushrooms in the burrito!” she wailed, cutting him off. “I was trying to help Wiley relax, but I messed up, Kash! I messed everything up!”

Her voice cracked, and she clutched at his arm. “I have to confess. Before they find the video. I have to tell the truth.”

“No,” Kash said firmly, grabbing her hands. “You don’t have to do anything. I’ll handle it.”

She jerked away from him, shaking her head violently. “You can’t handle this! You don’t understand what it feels like to be caught in this mess!”

Kash’s temper flared. “You think I don’t understand? You think I don’t know how much is at stake?”

Tears streamed down her face as she glared at him. “You don’t care about me! You’re just scared they’ll dig into us!”

The accusation cut deep, though Kash would never admit it. The truth was, Sandy wasn’t entirely wrong. Their involvement wasn’t just personal—it was dangerous. If anyone connected the dots, his carefully curated world would collapse.

“You’re being irrational,” he said coldly.

Sandy’s laugh was bitter and broken. “Irrational? I’m terrified, Kash. And all you care about is saving your own ass.”

Her words stung, and something inside him snapped. Before he realized what he was doing, his hand flew out, striking her across the face.

The slap echoed through the night. Sandy staggered back, her heel catching on the uneven granite.

Kash’s heart stopped as he saw her teeter on the edge. Her eyes locked onto his, wide with terror.

“Kash!” she screamed, her voice raw and desperate. Her hands flailed, grasping for anything to steady herself. “Please! Help me!”

For a moment, Kash froze. His mind raced, weighing the consequences. If he saved her, would she still talk? Would she ruin everything?

In that split second of hesitation, Sandy’s grip faltered. Her scream pierced the night as she plunged into the darkness below.

Kash rushed to the edge, staring down at the jagged rocks. The waves roared, swallowing the sound of her impact.

His chest heaved as he backed away, his hands trembling. The realization of what had happened—and what he had allowed to happen—crashed over him like the waves against the granite.

The Morning After

The memory was a relentless tide, dragging Kash under. He clenched his fists, trying to push it away, but Sandy’s scream echoed in his ears.

He glanced back at the headline on his tablet. The narrative was clean. Suicide. A woman overcome with guilt.

It wasn’t entirely a lie.

But Kash knew the truth. And now, he had to live with it.

He rubbed his temples, forcing himself to think clearly. There were loose ends to tie up, questions to answer, and moves to make. The next steps had to be careful, calculated.

One thought loomed above the rest:

The only way out of this was to keep moving forward.