Ortiz looked at it.
“We haven’t played it yet.”
“Why?”
“We wanted you present.”
Christian looked at her.
“Play it.”
Thomas’s voice filled the small room.
At first there was only rustling.
Then:
“Testing.”
Christian’s eyes closed.
Three years disappeared instantly.
Thomas sounded alive.
Impatient.
Slightly amused.
“If this thing doesn’t work, I’m returning it.”
Christian laughed despite himself.
Ortiz pressed her lips together.
The recording continued.
It appeared Thomas had been keeping audio notes about his health, perhaps because his cardiologist asked him to record episodes.
Dates.
Times.
Symptoms.
Skipped beats.
Dizziness.
Nothing dramatic.
Then, on a recording dated five weeks before his death, Thomas said something unexpected.
“Had another argument with Chris.”
Christian leaned forward.
“Not really an argument. More like me being an ass and him not understanding why.”
A pause.
“I still haven’t told him about the guardianship refusal.”
Christian’s hand tightened around the chair.
Thomas sighed.
“Maybe I’m scared he’ll say it to my face.”
Another pause.
“Which is stupid.”
Christian whispered, “Yes.”
Thomas’s recorded voice continued.
“I keep thinking about when Mom died. Chris was nineteen. I was sixteen. He basically raised me for a year because Dad couldn’t get out of bed.”
Christian looked down.
“He didn’t complain.”
Thomas breathed into the microphone.
“So why would he refuse Mason and Daisy?”
Christian’s eyes snapped up.
Ortiz paused the recording.
The room became silent.
“What?”
Christian whispered.
Ortiz looked at him.
“He doubted it.”
“Keep playing.”
Thomas returned.
“Evelyn says people change when responsibility gets real.”
A pause.
“But Chris already knows responsibility.”
Another.
“I’m going to ask him in person.”
Christian gripped the table.
The next recordings were mostly medical.
Then, three weeks before Thomas died:
“Didn’t talk to Chris.”
Christian shut his eyes.
“He came by. I lost my nerve.”
Thomas gave a humorless laugh.
“I actually stood in my own kitchen pretending to be mad about Mason’s birthday because I couldn’t ask my brother one simple question.”
Christian remembered.
That had been their last real argument.
Thomas had been furious about nothing.
Christian had left angry.
Now he understood.
The recorder continued.
“I hate this.”
Click.
The next file was dated eleven days before Thomas died.
Thomas sounded different.
Tense.
“Something is wrong.”
Christian looked at Ortiz.
“I asked the attorney for the original declination.”
Paper rustled.
“He said they never received one from Chris.”
Christian’s mouth fell open.
Thomas continued.
“He said Evelyn brought the document in.”
A long silence.
“I asked her.”
Another pause.
“She said Chris gave it to her because he was too ashamed to give it to me.”
Thomas breathed heavily.
“I don’t believe that anymore.”
Christian’s chest tightened.
Ortiz stared at the recorder.
Thomas continued.
“Dr. Bell’s number doesn’t work.”
Christian looked at her.
Thomas had discovered it.
“He knew.”
Ortiz nodded.
The recording continued.
“I drove to the address.”
Thomas’s voice was shaking now.
“It’s an empty office.”
Christian covered his face.
Thomas knew.
He knew.
The next recording was four days before his death.
“I checked the trust.”
Thomas’s voice was low.
“There are charges I don’t recognize.”
Paper.
“Therapy. Overnight respite care. Behavioral specialist.”
Another pause.
“Some of these dates Mason was with me.”
Christian looked at Ortiz.
Her expression had hardened.
Thomas said, “Evelyn has been lying.”
Click.
The final recording was dated the morning Thomas died.
Christian’s entire body became still.
Ortiz looked at the timestamp.
7:14 a.m.
Thomas had died at approximately 8:05.
Ortiz pressed play.
A car door slammed in the recording.
Thomas was breathing quickly.
“Chris.”
He paused.
“This one’s for you.”
Christian’s throat closed.
“I found the email account.”
Wind.
Traffic.
“Evelyn left her laptop open.”
Thomas inhaled.
“It wasn’t you.”
Christian put both hands over his mouth.
“I know it wasn’t you.”
Tears flooded his eyes.
Thomas continued.
“God, Chris.”
His voice broke.
“I am so sorry.”
Christian bent forward.
Ortiz watched silently.
“I believed her.”
Thomas swallowed.
“I believed a fake email over thirty years of knowing my own brother.”
Christian shook his head violently.
“No.”
“I was angry because being angry was easier than admitting I was scared.”
Christian whispered, “Stop.”
But the recording continued.
“I’m coming over.”
Christian froze.
“I’m bringing the papers.”
A vehicle started.
“I’m going to ask you myself.”
Thomas’s voice became clearer.
“And after you punch me, which I probably deserve, I need help.”
Christian stared at the recorder.
“I think something’s happening with the kids.”
There was another pause.
Then Thomas said:
“Mason told me he doesn’t like when Evelyn closes the downstairs door.”
Every person in the room stopped moving.
Christian could hear his own heartbeat.
Thomas continued.
“He said she tells him not to tell me.”
Christian’s face drained of color.
“I don’t know what that means yet.”
The engine idled.
“But I’m not leaving them alone with her until I do.”
Christian whispered, “Oh my God.”
Thomas’s next words came quietly.
“Chris, if I was wrong about you, I’m sorry.”
A turn signal clicked in the background.
“Actually, forget if.”
Thomas exhaled.
“I was wrong.”
Then:
“I’m coming.”
The file ended.
Christian stared into space.
Detective Ortiz did not move.
Finally Christian spoke.
“He died at home.”
Ortiz’s eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“He collapsed in his driveway.”
Christian stood.
“That’s what Evelyn told us.”
He pointed at the recorder.
“But he was already in the car.”
Ortiz rose.
“Christian.”
“He said he was coming here.”
Ortiz grabbed the evidence list.
“What time did Evelyn call emergency services?”
“I don’t know.”
“We do.”
She left the room.
Christian remained standing beside the table.
Something enormous and terrible was shifting again.
For three years, he had believed Thomas died unexpectedly while beginning an ordinary morning at home.
That was the story Evelyn told everybody.
Thomas made coffee.
Walked outside.
Collapsed.
Evelyn found him.
Called 911.
Christian suddenly remembered something from the funeral.
Evelyn crying against his shoulder.
“He was right there.”
Right there.
Christian had never asked where.
Ortiz returned eleven minutes later.
Her expression frightened him.
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