Chapter 5
The second laptop was hidden beneath a stack of winter blankets.
I watched my father stand in the bedroom doorway while Claire retrieved it.
She was crying again.
But this time, Dad didn't comfort her.
"Place it on the bed," he said.
Claire hesitated.
"It's my personal computer."
Dad nodded.
"Then preserve it and give the information to your attorney."
She looked surprised.
"Aren't you going to open it?"
"No."
He took a slow breath.
"I'm not going to damage a legal investigation by searching through your private files without proper authority."
I stared at him.
Even after everything Claire had done, he was thinking carefully.
He wasn't trying to humiliate her.
He wasn't trying to win an argument.
He wanted the truth.
Dad stepped back.
"Claire, you need legal representation."
Her expression changed.
"Daniel, please."
He shook his head.
"I can't pretend this is a marital disagreement anymore."
She covered her mouth.
My father looked at Maya.
"Do you have somewhere safe you can stay tonight?"
Maya nodded.
"My grandmother."
Claire's mother lived twenty minutes away.
She had always been kind to me.
I wondered whether she knew what was happening.
Dad contacted her directly.
He explained that Claire and Maya needed somewhere to stay while the adults addressed a serious family problem.
He didn't share accusations over the phone.
He simply asked whether she could receive them.
She agreed.
While Claire packed, Dad called my aunt Monica.
She was his younger sister.
She worked as a pediatric nurse.
When she arrived, she took one look at my face and stopped.
"Michael?"
I looked down.
She stepped closer.
"Who did that?"
My throat tightened.
Dad answered quietly.
"Claire struck him."
Aunt Monica's expression changed.
She turned toward my father.
"Daniel."
He nodded.
"I know."
She crouched in front of me.
"Are you hurt anywhere else?"
I shook my head.
She examined my cheek carefully.
Then asked whether I felt dizzy or had any vision changes.
I told her no.
She recommended that Dad take me for a medical evaluation.
I wanted to protest.
I was embarrassed.
I didn't want strangers asking questions.
But Dad looked at me gently.
"Son, it's important."
I nodded.
"Okay."
Before we left, Maya approached me.
She looked smaller than I remembered.
Her eyes were swollen.
"Michael?"
I didn't answer.
She swallowed.
"I'm sorry."
I stared at her.
For months, I'd wanted us to become friends.
I'd helped her with homework.
Shared snacks.
Covered for her when she forgot chores.
I thought eventually we'd feel like family.
Now I didn't know whether I could trust anything she said.
"Why?" I asked.
Her lips trembled.
"Why did I lie?"
I nodded.
She looked away.
"Because I was scared."
"Of what?"
"Mom."
I froze.
Maya began crying.
"She said if Trevor got caught, everyone would blame me."
I felt anger rise.
"So you blamed me instead?"
She nodded.
"I know it was wrong."
I took a breath.
"Maya, you could have ruined my life."
She covered her face.
"I know."
I stepped backward.
"I'm not ready to forgive you."
She nodded through tears.
"I understand."
Then she walked away.
I watched her leave.
And for the first time, I realized that an apology didn't automatically repair what someone had broken.
At the clinic, a doctor examined my cheek.
She documented the swelling and asked what happened.
I told her the truth.
My voice shook.
But Dad remained beside me.
He didn't interrupt.
He didn't tell me to minimize it.
He simply held my hand when I needed him.
Afterward, a counselor asked whether I felt safe at home.
I hesitated.
Then answered honestly.
"Not when Claire is there."
Dad lowered his head.
The counselor nodded.
She explained that we could access additional support if needed.
She also gave Dad information about reporting family violence and protecting children in the household.
I listened carefully.
I hadn't thought of myself as someone who needed protection.
I was seventeen.
Almost an adult.
Tall enough to look my father in the eyes.
But that afternoon, I understood that being older didn't make humiliation or violence hurt less.
On the drive home, Dad was quiet.
I watched the passing houses.
Then I asked, "Are you going to divorce Claire?"
His hands tightened around the steering wheel.
"I don't know yet."
I nodded.
He glanced at me.
"But I know you're not responsible for what happened to our marriage."
I looked away.
He continued.
"Whatever I decide, it won't be because you told the truth."
My eyes filled.
"Dad, I didn't want any of this."
"I know."
"I wanted us to be a family."
His voice cracked.
"So did I."
He pulled into a quiet parking lot.
Then turned toward me.
"Michael, I need to apologize."
I frowned.
"For what?"
"For not noticing how unhappy you were."
I stared at him.
He continued.
"I knew Claire was sometimes impatient with you. I thought you were all still adjusting."
I looked down.
"I didn't want to make you unhappy."
His expression broke.
"Son, you should never have to accept mistreatment to protect my happiness."
I started crying.
Dad unbuckled his seat belt.
He pulled me into his arms.
I held him tightly.
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
When we finally returned home, Aunt Monica was waiting.
She had made dinner.
For the first time in months, the house was quiet.
No angry footsteps.
No complaints.
No accusations.
Just the smell of chicken and rice.
Dad's phone rang during dinner.
It was his attorney, Marcus Reed.
He had already contacted the engineering competition organizers.
They agreed to preserve all submissions and review any concerns about copied work.
Marcus had also notified Robert Collins that the stolen files could not be used or distributed while ownership was disputed.
I felt relieved.
Then Dad asked, "What about the company proposal?"
His expression changed as he listened.
I watched carefully.
Finally, he said, "Understood."
He ended the call.
Aunt Monica looked at him.
"Daniel?"
Dad rubbed his forehead.
"Marcus says we need a forensic investigation."
I swallowed.
"Because of Claire?"
Dad nodded.
"The company access logs show confidential files were opened through credentials associated with my home office."
Aunt Monica's face darkened.
"Did Claire have the passwords?"
Dad hesitated.
"She knew where I kept some login information."
I stared at him.
"Dad, did she use your account?"
"We don't know yet."
He looked toward the stairs.
"But the access happened while I was at work."
A terrible silence settled over the table.
Then Dad continued.
"The leaked documents include pricing information from our city bid."
I felt sick.
"Can someone use that against you?"
"Potentially."
Aunt Monica placed her hand over his.
"Then you'll investigate."
Dad nodded.
"We will."
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I opened my laptop.
I searched through my old project folders.
Test results.
Sketches.
Prototype photos.
Earlier versions of my code.
I organized everything by date.
At two in the morning, I found something important.
An email I'd sent to my science teacher six months earlier.
It contained an early version of the sensor calibration system.
I stared at the attachment.
Then smiled.
It wasn't the finished project.
But it proved the design had existed long before Trevor entered my room.
I immediately forwarded it to Dad.
Then I found another message.
This one was from Maya.
It had arrived three weeks earlier.
At the time, I barely noticed it.
She had asked me to send her a photograph of my engineering project.
I had refused.
But now, reading the message again, something stood out.
She wrote:
"Mom says Robert needs to see it before the competition."
I froze.
Mom says.
Claire had been involved weeks before the theft.
I took a screenshot.
Then another.
My hands shook as I sent them to Dad.
I thought I had found the proof we needed.
But a minute later, an old photo appeared in my archived messages.
A photo Maya had accidentally sent before deleting it.
I had saved it without thinking.
It showed Claire and Robert Collins sitting at our kitchen table.
Between them was a folder.
And on the folder, in large printed letters, were three words.
CARTER ENGINEERING PROPOSAL.
I stared at the image.
Then I noticed the date.
It had been taken two months before the slap.
My stomach dropped.
May you like
Because that meant Claire's betrayal hadn't started when Trevor stole my flash drive.
It had started long before.
