Chapter 2
I did not let go of Marcus until his face changed from smug to scared.
Even then, I only released him because my mother touched my shoulder.
“Please,” she whispered. “Not like this.”
I turned toward her.
“Then tell me the truth.”
Marcus laughed.
“She can’t.”
Mom flinched.
That told me everything.
I pulled out my phone.
Marcus’s smile disappeared.
“Who are you calling?”
“The police.”
Mom grabbed my wrist.
“No.”
I stared at her.
“He assaulted you.”
“No police.”
“Why?”
Her breathing grew uneven.
“Because it will make things worse.”
“For who?”
She didn’t answer.
Marcus walked to the cabinet and poured himself whiskey with shaking hands.
“He always was dramatic,” he said. “Just like his father.”
I moved toward him.
Mom stepped in front of me again.
“Daniel, stop!”
I looked at her.
“Why do you keep protecting him?”
She pressed both hands to her chest like something inside her hurt.
“Because he knows.”
“Knows what?”
The room seemed to shrink.
Rain tapped against the kitchen window.
The old clock above the stove clicked louder and louder.
Mom looked at Marcus.
He lifted his glass.
“Go on, Elaine. Tell your hero son.”
Her voice broke.
“The night your father died, I was supposed to meet him.”
I froze.
“What?”
“He called me. He said something was wrong at the warehouse. He said he found records. Names. Payments. He told me to bring the files from the house.”
I remembered that night.
I was sixteen.
Mom had told me Dad was working late.
Then police came before midnight.
“I didn’t go,” she whispered.
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
She covered her eyes.
“Because I was angry with him. We had fought that morning. I thought he was being paranoid. I thought he just wanted me to panic.”
Marcus clicked his tongue.
“Tell him the rest.”
Mom shook her head.
“Tell him.”
I faced Marcus.
“Shut up.”
He smiled.
“Your mother had the files. She burned them.”
I looked back at her.
“No.”
Tears ran down her face.
“I didn’t know what they were.”
“No.”
“I thought if I destroyed them, he would stop chasing trouble. I thought he would come home.”
My voice came out thin.
“And he died.”
She sobbed.
“Yes.”
The room tilted.
All these years, I had built my life around one clear story.
My father was brave.
My mother was strong.
I was their son.
Now one side of that story was cracking open under my feet.
Marcus leaned against the counter.
“Your father was investigating people who did business with me. Years later, I found Elaine. I recognized the name. She recognized mine.”
I stared at him.
“You were involved?”
He smiled.
“I was young. I moved product. Signed papers. Nothing important.”
Mom whispered, “He said if I told anyone about the files, he would make it look like I helped cover up your father’s death.”
I looked at her.
“And you believed him?”
“I had burned evidence, Daniel.”
“You were scared.”
“I was guilty.”
Her voice shattered.
“I was guilty every day.”
I wanted to be angry.
I was angry.
But behind the anger was a boy who suddenly understood every time his mother looked at my father’s picture and went quiet.
Marcus set down his glass.
“So now you see. Your mother isn’t a victim. She’s part of it.”
I turned on him.
“You blackmailed her.”
“She invited me in.”
Mom whispered, “He said he had copies.”
“Copies of what?”
“The warehouse files. Photos. A statement I signed.”
“You signed something?”
Marcus grinned.
“She was emotional. Easy to guide.”
My hands curled into fists.
Mom pulled open a drawer with trembling fingers and took out a folded paper.
She handed it to me.
I unfolded it.
At the top was my mother’s name.
Below that, a confession.
I read the first lines and felt sick.
It said she knowingly destroyed evidence.
It said she had accepted money.
It said she had known men were inside the warehouse.
“That’s a lie,” I said.
Marcus shrugged.
“Her signature is real.”
Mom nodded.
“He told me he only needed it for protection. He said if I loved you, I would sign. He said he would leave us alone.”
“But he didn’t.”
“No.”
Marcus’s face hardened.
“Enough family therapy. Get out.”
I looked at my phone again.
This time Mom didn’t stop me.
Marcus saw that.
His confidence slipped.
“Elaine.”
Mom wiped her face.
“No.”
He stared at her.
“What did you say?”
She stood straighter, though her hands still shook.
“I said no.”
He stepped toward her.
I moved first.
“Try it.”
Marcus stopped.
For the first time, he understood I was not sixteen anymore.
I called 911.
Then I called my godfather, Peter Walsh, my father’s old partner at the fire department.
When Peter answered, I said, “I need you at Mom’s house. Now.”
His voice sharpened.
“What happened?”
I looked at Marcus.
“I think I just found the man who knows why Dad died.”
May you like
Silence.
Then Peter said, “Lock the doors.”
