“And me like the woman his second wife brought into the house.”
I stared at her.
“You were twelve.”
“I helped raise you.”
“I know.”
“You could have told me.”
“I wanted your life.”
“So you tried to erase it?”
She had no answer.
Vanessa eventually gave investigators access information to the private archive.
No theatrical trap was required.
Search warrants did the rest.
Documents connected Adrian’s father to shell companies that had paid a mechanic shortly before our parents’ fatal crash.
The same mechanic was still alive.
Faced with financial records and old photographs, he cooperated.
He admitted the steering system on our parents’ vehicle had been deliberately compromised.
He claimed he had been told the goal was intimidation.
Nobody believed him.
Noah had been right for fourteen years.
Our parents had not simply died on a bad road.
Someone had arranged it.
And Noah had spent almost half his life pretending he couldn’t stand because surviving openly once had nearly gotten him killed.
Adrian’s father was arrested before dawn three days later.
Adrian’s charges expanded.
Conspiracy.
Attempted murder.
Fraud.
Administration of a harmful substance.
