Leonard stared in silent disbelief. Further investigation revealed transfers of money to an obscure spiritual practitioner in rural Nevada. Emails recovered from deleted archives spoke of removing obstacles and ensuring succession of power.
Leonard’s hands shook as he read them.
That evening, Leonard invited Michael to dinner. Catherine sat at the table, smiling softly, enjoying soup she could finally taste without pain. June moved quietly through the kitchen, preparing tea.
Michael raised his glass. “It is wonderful to see you healthy again, Mrs. Sloan,” he said warmly. “We were all very worried.”
Catherine’s smile faltered. She touched her right temple lightly.
“Your cologne,” she said slowly. “I remember that smell. In the nights when I could not move. Someone stood near my bed. Whispering.”
Michael’s eyes flickered.
Leonard set his glass down with careful calm. “Michael,” he said. “Tell me the truth. What did you do.”
Michael laughed nervously. “You are tired Leonard. You are imagining—”
Leonard’s voice hardened. “I have recordings. I have payment records. I have emails. Speak now.”
Michael’s composure cracked. Anger burst through.