Jason didn't answer right away. His jaw clenched, eyes flicking to the floor like the answer lay buried in the white tiles.
"What was it?" I asked again, firmer this time, despite the ache in my voice.
He dragged a hand down his face, then pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat beside me. When he finally looked up, there was something in his eyes I hadn't seen before—fear, yes, but also guilt.
"She was looking into a man named Peterson," he said. "Your boss."
I blinked. "Mr. Peterson?"
Jason nodded slowly. "She didn't trust him. Said his company was a front for something else. Something bigger. She'd stumbled across documents—financial records, missing shipments, coded communication. She tried to warn people, but no one listened. And then… she got sick."
A chill ran through me, deeper than before. "Are you saying someone made her sick?"
"I'm saying," Jason said carefully, "that her death wasn't just bad luck. And the more I dig, the more I find the same names circling around your mother's files. Names I've been trying to piece together for years."
I stared at him, my thoughts spiraling. "But why target me?"
"Because you're her daughter," he said softly. "And because someone out there believes she told you something. Or left something with you."
I tried to breathe, but my chest felt tight again.
"And you?" I asked. "Why are you involved in all this?"
Jason leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Because I was part of it once. Not the bad stuff, but I was tied to Peterson's world more than I knew. I grew up in the same children's home he donated to, worked in his company briefly during my internship. I didn't see it then, but your mom… she tried to warn me too. She was kind to me, Janica. I owe her."
Silence hung between us. Heavy. Unspoken.
Then I asked the question that had been haunting me since the day we met.
"Jason… did you know her before I told you her name?"
He hesitated. Just for a second.
"Yes."
My breath caught.
"I didn't know you were her daughter," he added quickly. "Not at first. But the way you smiled… it hit me one day. She used to smile like that too."
I looked away, heart pounding. The room felt too small, the air too thick. I wanted to cry, scream, demand the truth—but the truth was already unraveling around me.
I wasn't just some random girl on a bus.
I was part of something much darker.
Jason stood and moved toward the window, gazing out at the city lights.
"I'm not letting them get to you," he said. "Whatever your mother started, I'll finish it. But I need your help."
I turned to face him, voice shaking.
"Where do we start?"
He looked back at me.
"With the one thing your mother left behind that no one else could find."
I frowned. "What?"
Jason stepped closer, eyes burning with certainty.
"Her journal."