In the parking lot, under pale streetlights, I dialed a number I had avoided for over two decades.
The voice on the other end answered calmly. “Gerald, I heard congratulations are in order.”
“It is time,” I said. “Come to Larkspur County tonight.”
Silence followed, then a measured reply. “Once we step in, there is no turning back.”
“I understand,” I said.
Kyle Benton had no idea what was about to descend upon his carefully constructed lies.
I drove back to Silver Ridge Ranch through empty highways, each mile giving me too much time to replay the slap, the shock in Brianna’s eyes, and my own foolishness for ignoring warning signs. The porch light glowed against weathered wood that my wife and I had painted years ago. I stood there a moment, steadying myself, preparing to unearth truths long buried.