Chapter 10 - The Missing Twenty-Three Minutes
Tessa synchronized the building's access records with the emergency call.
The basement camera clock was twenty-three minutes slow.
On November fourth, the video timestamp did not show the true time.
That meant the figure in my coat wasn't necessarily me, or even someone present when Dad fell.
Tessa compared the coat to archived photographs.
Its buttons were on the opposite side from mine.
The person was wearing a man's coat cut to resemble it.
Eliam had tried to make resemblance look like proof.
But a worse discovery followed.
Dad's work phone contained a voice memo recorded at 3:52 p.m.
His voice was shaky.
“Eliam is here,” he said.
“The rail is loose. I told him not to touch it.”
Footsteps sounded.
Then Eliam's voice, tense and unmistakable.
“Give me the paperwork, Richard.”
Dad answered.
“I won't sign another thing.”
There was a scrape, a sharp sound, and an abrupt end.
No one in the room moved.
We had evidence of an argument, not proof of exactly how Dad fell.
Naomi said so immediately.
Mara wiped her eyes.
Tessa copied the recording and recorded its provenance.
She gave it to Detective Ruiz with the supporting device information.
That night I stayed with Naomi instead of returning home.
Eliam sent twenty-seven messages.
Most of them pleaded for us to talk.
The last one was different.
I KNOW WHAT MARA DID BEFORE THE FALL.
I called Mara.
She answered on the third ring.
“What did he mean?” I asked.
For several seconds I heard only breathing.
“I went to Dad's house that morning,” she said.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I did something I'm ashamed of.”
“What?”
“I took a file from his desk.”
She paused.
May you like
“The file that would have told you who really owned Eliam's company.”
