Chapter 254
Lance
Thomas went very, very still.
His eyes met mine, and for just a second, I saw something flicker behind the carefully maintained facade. Fear. Calculation. The trapped-animal awareness of a predator who'd suddenly realized he was the one being hunted.
Then it was gone, replaced by a mask of confused concern. "Real interrogation? Lance, the case is closed. The chief fabricated evidence. You're free to go." He swayed slightly, one hand moving to his chest in that familiar gesture of frailty he'd perfected over the years. "I really must insist—my medication schedule—I need to leave."
He took a step toward the door.
"Oh?" I let the word hang in the air, light and curious. "Suddenly in such a rush, Uncle? You seemed perfectly content to stay earlier. Very patient, in fact. Very invested in seeing this through to the end." I tilted my head slightly. "What's changed?"
Thomas's hand froze on the door handle. "I've told you—my medication—"
"Stay a little longer," I said softly. "We're just getting started."
"Lance." Diana's voice cut through the tension, professional and measured. "Mr. Thomas Lawson isn't under arrest. He's not a suspect in any active investigation. He has every legal right to leave whenever he chooses."
The words landed exactly as she'd intended them—a reminder of the limits of my authority here, a boundary I couldn't cross.
Thomas's shoulders relaxed fractionally. He even managed a thin smile as he turned back to face me. "You heard the agent. I'm free to go. And I really must—"
"Grandfather."
I didn't raise my voice. Didn't need to.
Arthur looked older than I'd ever seen him. The events of the past hour had stripped away some essential vitality, leaving behind the frail bones of a man who'd lived too long and seen too much. But his eyes were still sharp. Still searching.
"If you want the truth about how my mother really died," I said quietly, holding his gaze. "The truth that's been buried all these years—you'll ask Uncle Thomas to stay."
The room held its breath again.
Arthur's gaze moved from me to Thomas and back again, taking in my expression, Thomas's barely concealed panic, the weight of decades pressing down on all of us. His hand trembled slightly where it rested on the chair arm.
When he spoke, his voice carried the full weight of his authority as family patriarch.
"I am the head of this family," he said slowly. "And as such, it is my responsibility to ensure justice for every member of the Lawson name." He paused, letting that declaration settle. "Lance, you came here under suspicion. I have given you justice—your innocence is proven beyond doubt." His gaze shifted to Thomas. "And you, Thomas. My son. I believe you are equally innocent of any wrongdoing."
Thomas's shoulders relaxed fractionally.
"Which is why," Arthur continued, his voice hardening, "you will stay. You will answer Lance's questions. You will prove to him—to all of us—that there is no shadow between you. That this family, fractured as it is, can still find truth and reconciliation." He leaned forward slightly. "Stay, Thomas. Clear the air. Let us have no more secrets, no more suspicions. Let us be done with this."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Thomas's expression underwent a fascinating transformation. The false frailty melted away first, replaced by something colder. Sharper. His posture straightened, the tremor in his hands disappearing as if it had never existed.
When he finally spoke, his voice was ice.
"You think I had something to do with your mother's death." It wasn't a question. His eyes bored into mine with an intensity that would've been intimidating if I hadn't spent the last decade preparing for this exact moment.
"After everything I've done for this family. After stepping aside when you took control of the company I helped build. After watching you systematically dismantle every legacy I tried to establish." He took a step closer. "And now you dare—"
"Is it a dare?" I kept my voice level. Curious. "Or is it a question that deserves an answer? One way or another, Uncle, we're going to find out what happened that night at Saint's Bay. We're going to excavate every buried secret, every convenient coincidence, every detail that never quite added up." I paused. "The only question is whether you'll be here to defend yourself or whether your absence will speak for you."
Thomas's jaw clenched so hard I could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he smiled.
It was the smile of a man who'd just decided to stop pretending. To stop playing the role of the concerned family member, the supportive uncle, the tragic figure forever living in his brother's shadow.
"Some things," he said softly, "are better left buried, Lance. For everyone's sake." His gaze flickered to Diana, then back to me. "Digging up the past... it's painful. Traumatic. It makes people relive their worst moments." Another pause, weighted with meaning. "And sometimes, when you disturb old graves, you find the ground beneath your feet isn't as stable as you thought."
He pulled out his phone, making a show of checking the time with the leisurely confidence of a man who held all the cards.
"But if you insist on this little inquisition, I suppose I can spare a few hours. Though I do have plans this afternoon—I've reserved a cabin for the weekend. Upstate. One of those places where the cell service is spotty and the nearest neighbor is miles away." He looked up from his phone, his expression almost wistful. "You know the kind of place I mean. Where a person could really disconnect from the world. Find some peace and quiet." His eyes found mine. "I believe you've become quite familiar with that area recently."
Every muscle in my body locked.
The Hudson Valley. The region where Vincent had taken Serena less than three hours ago.
Thomas tilted his head slightly, watching my face with the focused attention of a scientist observing a specimen's reaction to stimulus. "Beautiful country this time of year," he continued, his tone conversational, almost friendly. "All those winding back roads. Easy to get lost if you don't know where you're going. Easy to... lose track of things." He slipped his phone back into his pocket with deliberate care. "I always think it's important to keep track of the things we care about. Don't you?"