Chapter 3
The deputies left 20 minutes later.
Vivian and Marcus were gone, their car peeling out of the driveway, tires screeching against the asphalt.
I helped Dad up the stairs to his bedroom.
His leg ached with every step, but he refused the wheelchair Maria rolled toward him.
“I’m not an invalid,” he muttered.
Maria stood in the doorway, holding a tray with his meds and a glass of water.
She’d worked for Dad for four years.
She was the only reason he was still alive.
“I gave them copies of my logs,” she said, setting the tray down on the nightstand. “Every time she refused him food. Every time she upped his meds without the doctor’s approval. Every time Marcus hit him when he thought no one was looking.”
Dad’s jaw tightened.
He looked away.
I sat beside him on the bed.
“Dad,” I said. “Tell me about the accident.”
He flinched.
“The police said it was my fault,” he said quietly. “I lost control on the curve. I was going too fast.”
“Did you believe them?” I asked.
He was silent for a long time.
Then he shook his head.
“The night before,” he said. “I saw Marcus in the garage. He was under my car. I asked him what he was doing. He said he was checking the oil. I thought… I wanted to believe him. Vivian said I was just being paranoid. That the accident was a sign I needed to step back and let her run things.”
His voice cracked.
“I let her,” he said. “I let her take everything. I was so tired. So in pain. I just wanted it to stop.”
Maria stepped forward, pulling a thick manila folder from her bag.
She handed it to me.
“I took these,” she said. “The day after the accident. Before Marcus could get to the car.”
I opened the folder.
Inside were photos.
Close-ups of the brake line on Dad’s car.
Cut clean through.
Not frayed.
Not worn.
Cut.
With a sharp tool.
My blood ran cold.
Dad saw the photos.
His hand flew to his mouth.
“Oh my God,” he whispered. “He tried to kill me.”
“Vivian planned it,” Maria said softly. “I heard them talking the week before. She said the insurance money was enough to let them retire anywhere they wanted. That you’d be better off dead than in the way.”
Dad’s face was ashen.
I grabbed his hand.
It was ice cold.
“They’re not going to get away with this,” I said. “I promise you.”
I pulled out my phone, calling Elias.
He answered on the first ring.
“We have more,” I said. “Photos of the brake line. Witness testimony from Maria. Dad just confirmed Marcus was working on the car the night before the crash.”
Elias was quiet for a second.
“That’s attempted murder,” he said. “I’ll call the lead detective on the case first thing in the morning. We’ll get the car impounded again. Forensics will confirm the cut. If we can find the tool Marcus used, or his DNA on the line…”
“He’ll go away for life,” I said.
“Exactly,” Elias said. “Get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”
I hung up.
Dad was staring at the wall.
“I almost died,” he said. “And I brought them into our home. I let them hurt you. I let them hurt Mom’s memory.”
Tears spilled down his cheeks again.
“You were grieving,” I said. “Vivian knew exactly what she was doing. She targeted you when you were vulnerable. That’s not your fault.”
He looked at me.
“You were just a kid when she came,” he said. “I should have protected you. Instead, I let her make your life hell until you ran away.”
I squeezed his hand.
“I didn’t run,” I said. “I left to get strong enough to come back. To protect you. To make things right.”
He smiled, a small, broken thing.
“You did good, kid,” he said.
Maria checked his vitals, gave him his meds.
“Sleep,” she said. “You need to rest.”
He closed his eyes, his grip on my hand loosening as the meds kicked in.
I sat beside him until his breathing evened out.
Then I stood, walking to the window.
The guest house was dark.
Vivian and Marcus were gone, but I knew they wouldn’t stay away.
They had too much to lose.
Too many secrets to bury.
I pulled out my phone, checking the security feeds.
Cameras covered every inch of the property.
Every door.
Every window.
Every dark corner.
If they so much as stepped foot on the grass, I’d know.
I walked out of Dad’s room, closing the door softly behind me.
I had work to do.
Evidence to organize.
Calls to make.
May you like
The fight was just beginning.
And I wasn’t going to lose.
