Chapter 3 - The Life I Buried
Richard looked between us.
“Commander?”
Sheriff Grant lowered his weapon.
His deputies followed.
“Arthur Cole led the state’s violent-crimes task force before half the people in this room had badges.”
Daniel stared at me.
Margaret appeared in the hallway behind him.
Her face tightened.
Richard forced a laugh.
“He’s a retired cop?”
“Not exactly,” Grant said.
“I was never a regular cop,” I replied.
That part of my life had ended fifteen years earlier.
It ended the night my wife died.
I had come home from a hostage operation three hours too late to say goodbye.
After the funeral, Lily asked me to stop chasing monsters.
She was sixteen.
Terrified that every phone call would take her last parent away.
So I buried the badge.
I sold the house near headquarters.
I moved into a quiet place outside town.
I learned how to cook badly.
I attended every birthday.
Every school ceremony.
Every Christmas morning.
I chose being her father over being the man everyone called when the worst people in the state needed hunting.
I never regretted it.
Until that afternoon.
Grant looked at the shattered equipment.
“What was stored here?”
Richard straightened.
“Private business records.”
“I destroyed nothing intentionally.”
Grant pointed at the smoking cabinet.
“Then you won’t mind us securing the room.”
“You need a warrant.”
“We have an injured woman in the next room.”
“A report of assault.”
“And an active attempt to destroy potential evidence.”
Daniel stepped forward.
“Sheriff, I strongly advise—”
Grant turned toward him.
“You can advise your client from outside my crime scene.”
Richard’s jaw tightened.
“This is my home.”
Grant looked toward the living room.
“Not anymore.”
Paramedics entered through the hallway.
I left the office and returned to Lily.
She was sitting against the sofa with a blanket around her shoulders.
One paramedic examined her neck.
Another checked her breathing.
When she saw me, her eyes filled.
“Dad.”
I knelt.
“I’m here.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For calling you.”
The words crushed me.
“You never apologize for calling me.”
“I should’ve left before.”
“You survived until you could.”
“That’s what matters.”
She looked toward the hallway.
“Richard said nobody would believe me.”
“I believe you.”
“He said everyone at the party would say I fell.”
“Then they’ll lie on record.”
Her breathing shook.
“There’s more.”
“What?”
“The camera wasn’t Richard’s.”
I stared at her.
She glanced toward Margaret.
“His mother installed it.”
Margaret’s expression sharpened.
Lily continued.
“She told me it was there to prove I was unstable.”
“She recorded me for months.”
“Arguments.”
“Breakdowns.”
“Everything.”
Grant heard her.
“Where was the recording stored?”
Lily swallowed.
“There were two systems.”
Richard stopped moving.
Margaret’s head turned slowly toward her son.
Lily pointed weakly toward the staircase.
“The main drive was in his office.”
“But Margaret kept backups in her bedroom safe.”
Richard whispered something under his breath.
Margaret’s eyes widened.
“You foolish girl.”
Grant raised a hand.
“Deputy, secure the upstairs.”
Margaret stepped backward.
“I will not allow strangers inside my private rooms.”
“You already allowed a felony inside your living room,” Grant said.
“That was enough hospitality for one day.”
Two deputies moved toward the stairs.
Margaret turned and ran.
For a sixty-eight-year-old woman in heels, she moved fast.
She reached the second-floor landing before anyone expected it.
Then she pulled something from her handbag.
A small black remote.
Lily screamed.
“Dad, stop her!”
Margaret pressed the button.
A deep explosion shook the second floor.
Smoke burst from beneath a bedroom door.
The backup footage was burning.
But Margaret had forgotten one thing.
The upstairs safe did not contain only recordings.
Richard looked at the smoke and shouted,
May you like
“Mother, the ledger!”
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