He stared wildly at the ceiling, tears streaming down his bruised face. He fumbled for his phone with shaking hands. “Richard… Uncle Richard, pick up. Claire knows. She knows about Horizon Builders. She took the ledger. You have to help me fix this.”
He believed he was calling for reinforcements. He had no idea he had just armed the bomb I planted under both of their lives.
The childhood home smelled of stale dust, anxiety, and the lingering, metallic scent of fear. At precisely noon the next day, accompanied by the formidable presence of Attorney Harrison, I stepped into the living room.
It wasn’t a family gathering; it was a desperate ambush. Uncle Richard stood aggressively by the brick fireplace, his face flushed a dangerous purple. Mark sat at the dining table, wearing a meticulously crafted mask of profound, tragic exhaustion, though the red mark from Chloe’s hand still faintly shadowed his cheek. Aunt Susan sneered from the armchair.
