Chapter 8 - The Confession
“You would kill your own son?” Richard asked, his voice suddenly losing its raspy weakness.
Evelyn sneered. “You were always too arrogant. Nathan is pliable. Nathan listens to me.”
“So you tampered with the brakes,” Richard stated, looking at his brother.
Nathan swallowed hard, sweating profusely.
“It was supposed to be clean!” Nathan shouted defensively. “You drive too fast. Everyone would have thought it was an accident!”
“You ruined it by surviving,” Evelyn spat. “But it doesn’t matter now. You’re a crippled, dying man.”
She grabbed the pen and tried to force it into Richard’s hand.
“Sign the power of attorney. Leave the company to Nathan, and we’ll make sure your final hours are painless.”
I backed away slowly, moving toward the door.
“Emily, lock the door,” Nathan commanded, not looking at me. “No one leaves until this is done.”
I didn’t move.
Richard looked at his family, a look of profound disgust on his face.
“You’re right, Mother. I am arrogant.”
Richard wiped the fake blood from his chin with the back of his hand.
“But I am not crippled.”
In one fluid, powerful motion, Richard threw off the heavy blankets.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed.
Nathan stumbled backward, tripping over Claire’s feet.
Evelyn shrieked as Richard planted his feet firmly on the hardwood floor.
He stood up, towering over his brother, completely steady.
“What… how…?” Nathan stammered, his face pale with terror.
“Physical therapy,” Richard said coldly. “And a lot of motivation.”
Evelyn staggered back, clutching her chest. “This is a trick.”
“The only trick was making you believe you had won,” Richard said.
He reached behind the books and pulled out the voice recorder.
He hit a button, and Evelyn’s voice echoed into the room: “…I swear to God, I will put a pillow over your face myself.”
Nathan lunged for the recorder.
Richard sidestepped smoothly, grabbing his brother by the collar and shoving him hard against the wall.
“Don’t touch me,” Richard growled.
At that exact moment, the wail of police sirens pierced the quiet night.
I had texted the lead detective—a contact of Richard’s—ten minutes ago.
“You didn’t,” Claire whimpered, sinking to the floor.
May you like
“I did,” I said from the doorway.
Red and blue lights began flashing through the bedroom windows.
