Chapter Three: The Recording
Martin leaned forward and nudged the USB drive across the table.
“That file contains a copy,” he said.
Julian didn’t touch it.
“Copy of what?”
Martin looked at him directly now, no distance left between them.
“Your father confessing.”
The room seemed to contract.
“Confessing to what?” Claire whispered.
Martin didn’t look away from Julian.
“To the fire.”
Julian’s heartbeat stumbled.
“There was no fire,” he said automatically.
“There was,” Martin said. “You were ten. It was ruled electrical. A storage facility outside the city. Do you remember?”
Julian did.
Not clearly—but enough.
Smoke on the news.
His father turning off the television.
His mother crying in a room she thought was locked.
“That building,” Martin continued, “held documents. Contracts. Records your father needed erased.”
Julian’s stomach turned.
“No.”
“He didn’t mean to kill anyone,” Martin said. “But he did.”
The words landed with quiet brutality.
“And your mother found out,” Martin added.
Julian stepped back.
“That’s not true.”
“She confronted him. He recorded it. Not for remorse—for leverage. That’s the kind of man he was.”
Julian’s voice dropped to something barely audible. “You’re lying.”
Martin shook his head once.
“She gave me the clock because she didn’t trust herself not to destroy it. She thought if it stayed in the house, it would disappear.”
Julian swallowed hard. “So you took it… and ran?”
“I took it,” Martin said. “And your father paid me to disappear with it.”
That hit harder than anything else.
Julian stared at him.
“You took his money.”
“Yes.”
“And kept the evidence.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Martin didn’t answer immediately.
May you like
When he did, his voice was quieter than it had been all night.
“Because I knew one day you’d need to decide what kind of man you were going to be.”
