Smack.
The sound of Chloe’s palm connecting with Mark’s cheek echoed like a gunshot through the tablet speakers. His head snapped to the side.
“Don’t ever call my number again, you pathetic liar,” she spat. She turned on her heel, grabbing her designer weekender bag. The front door slammed shut with enough force to rattle the windows, leaving Mark entirely alone in the empty shell of his life.
He stared wildly at the ceiling, tears streaming down his bruised face. He fumbled for his phone with shaking hands. “Richard… Uncle Richard, pick up. Claire knows. She knows about Horizon Builders. She took the ledger. You have to help me fix this.”
He believed he was calling for reinforcements. He had no idea he had just armed the bomb I planted under both of their lives.
The childhood home smelled of stale dust, anxiety, and the lingering, metallic scent of fear. At precisely noon the next day, accompanied by the formidable presence of Attorney Harrison, I stepped into the living room.
