Chapter 6 The Tragedy

The phone rang at 1:32 a.m.

Senator Lawrence Roth was still in his study, going over a speech draft, when he saw the number flash across the screen. Private. Unfamiliar. He hesitated, his gut clenching-he always trusted his instincts, and something in the stillness of the night felt wrong.

He answered.

"Senator Roth?"

The voice was calm. Too calm.

"This is Sergeant Marlow from the Metro Police Department. Your wife, Eleanor Roth, was involved in a car accident off I-95. I'm afraid... I'm very sorry, sir. She didn't make it."

Lawrence POV

The words didn't make sense at first. They floated around in static. Then came the silence-the kind that presses against your ears until all you hear is the beat of your own disbelieving heart.

He stood abruptly, sending the chair screeching behind him.

"Are you sure?" he demanded. "You're saying-Eleanor?"

"I'm sorry, sir. Her vehicle hit the divider. Paramedics pronounced her dead at the scene."

The sergeant kept talking, something about reports and next of kin procedures, but Lawrence couldn't hear anything else. His wife was gone.

Just like that.

The headlines broke by dawn.

"Senator's Wife Dies in Tragic Car Crash."

"Mystery Surrounds Eleanor Roth's Fatal Accident."

Sienna Langford sat in her apartment, the TV buzzing in the background, her laptop open but forgotten. The moment she saw Eleanor's name on the screen, her breath hitched.

"No," she whispered, gripping the edge of her desk.

The camera showed footage of Eleanor's black Mercedes, crumpled like paper. Yellow police tape. Flashing lights. A body bag. The same woman who was once on the cover of Vogue Politics with a headline that read "The Elegant Backbone of Washington's Most Powerful Man."

Gone.

Sienna POV

I'd seen her at the fundraiser only days ago. Regal. Reserved. A politician's perfect wife. Something about her felt... distant. Like she knew something none of us did.

And now she was dead.

She switched tabs on her laptop and pulled up Eleanor's recent charity initiatives. Something didn't add up. Why was she alone that late at night? Where was she going?

Sienna's reporter instincts kicked in.

She picked up her phone and dialed a contact at the Department of Transportation. "I need access to the dash cam footage from last night's I-95 incident."

"Langford, it's an active investigation."

"I'm not asking for the autopsy," she snapped. "Just the camera log."

"I'll see what I can do."

She hung up and sat back, chewing the corner of her pen.

Sienna POV

This wasn't just a tragedy. It felt calculated. Eleanor Roth wasn't the type to die in a random accident. And something told me this was only the beginning.

Lawrence POV

The press gathered outside the Roth estate by midmorning. Cameras clicked. Reporters called out questions. Lawrence ignored them all.

He stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of his private lounge, untouched whiskey in hand, eyes locked on a photo of Eleanor and himself from their first campaign trail. She was smiling in that way only he could draw out of her. She had been more than a wife-she was his filter, his voice of reason, and at times, his secret conscience.

Now, silence.

The door creaked open. Julian Cross stepped in, his expression unreadable.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

Lawrence didn't turn. "She wasn't supposed to be on that road."

Julian stayed quiet.

"I told her to stay out of it," Lawrence said, his voice low, shaking. "She wouldn't listen."

"You think it wasn't an accident?" Julian asked.

Lawrence finally turned. "I know my enemies, Julian. But this... this was personal."

That evening, Sienna arrived at the crash site. The rain had washed away most of the debris, but a few wilted flowers marked the spot. She studied the skid marks, the guardrail, the curve of the road.

Then she saw it-barely visible, almost missed.

A second set of tire tracks veering off, as if another car had been there before Eleanor's crash.

Sienna POV

She wasn't alone.

Somebody else was here that night.

Back at her apartment, Sienna scribbled notes, pinned photos and quotes across her investigation board, and circled one name over and over:

Julian Cross.

Every lead, every whisper, every odd detail in the Roth empire's darkest corners somehow traced back to the mysterious man beside the senator.

Sienna didn't have proof-yet.

But something inside her whispered:

This wasn't an accident. It was a warning.

And Eleanor Roth may have died knowing too much.