Chapter 268
Thomas
"Interesting, isn't it?" Diana's voice seemed to come from very far away. "Someone went to a lot of trouble to stage that accident."
I forced myself to breathe. To think. "I don't—what does this have to do with—"
"Your reaction tells me everything I need to know." Diana leaned forward, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. "When you watched the first video—Grace's crash—your pupils didn't dilate. Heart rate stayed steady. Breathing normal. You've seen it before, just like you said."
She paused, letting the silence stretch.
"But this video?" Her eyes locked onto mine. "Pupils dilated. Hands trembling. Pulse spiking like you'd just run a marathon." She stood slowly, and the room seemed to shrink around her. "Which means you recognize that car, Thomas. You know exactly who was in it."
"That's absurd—"
"You know who killed Grace Blair." Her voice was steel. "And you've been protecting them for thirty years."
"I don't—"
"Thomas Lawson." She moved around the table with the deliberate precision of a predator closing in. "I am placing you under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder in the death of Grace Blair. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law—"
The rest of her words blurred into noise.
I stared at the handcuffs in her hands. At Lance's face, tight with grim satisfaction. At Serena, who looked like she might cry or scream or both.
But all I could see was Felix.
Not the Felix who'd kidnapped Serena. Not the Felix who'd betrayed the family and gotten himself stripped of everything.
Felix at thirteen. Small for his age. Angry at the world. Already running with the wrong crowd, already slipping through my fingers no matter how hard I tried to hold on.
The night before Grace died.
I'd been in my study, staring at Evander's text message. Trying to figure out how to handle it. How to help my brother without destroying everything Arthur had built.
And Felix had been there. Lurking in the shadows like he always did. Watching. Listening.
I'd thought he was asleep.
I'd thought—
He disappeared for three days after that.
Three days. And when he came back, he'd been different. Quieter. His eyes had been... wrong. Too old. Too knowing.
And I'd been so relieved he was home safe that I hadn't asked questions.
The handcuffs clicked around my wrists.
"Do you understand your rights as I've explained them?" Diana's voice was professional. Distant.
I nodded numbly.
Lance stepped closer, and for a moment I thought he might hit me. Wanted him to hit me. Anything would be better than the cold, empty look in his eyes.
"My father asked you for help," he said quietly. "And you used it to kill the woman he loved."
"I didn't—"
"Whether you did it yourself or had someone else do it doesn't matter." His voice was flat. Final. "You're responsible. And you're going to pay."
I wanted to tell him he was wrong. Wanted to explain that I'd never meant for Grace to die. That I'd only told Felix about the meeting to—to what? To give him something to focus on? To distract him from whatever gang he'd been running with?
I'd never imagined he'd—
But I knew. Didn't I?
When he came back after those three days. When Grace was dead and Evander was destroyed and Felix looked at me with those too-old eyes.
I'd known.
And I'd kept my mouth shut.
Because he was my son. My son. And I loved him—God help me, I loved him—even as I hated what he'd become. What he'd done.
What I'd let him do.
Diana pulled me toward the door. Lance and Serena followed, their presence heavy as judgment.
And as I walked—hands cuffed, head down, thirty years of secrets finally cracking open—all I could think about was Felix.
Felix at thirteen, covered in motor oil, eyes blazing with something I'd refused to name.
"I got rid of Grace." His voice had been breathless, triumphant. "Don't you see? She was the company's biggest threat. Uncle Evander—without her, he'll fall apart. He'll destroy himself."
He'd grabbed my sleeve, shaking with adrenaline.
"I did it, Dad. For you. For the family. I actually fucking did it."
And I'd beaten him.
I'd dragged him into my study and locked the door. Slapped him so hard his lip split. Punched him until my knuckles bled and his face was a mess of bruises and tears.
"What did you do?" I'd roared, shaking him by the shoulders. "What the fuck did you do?"
He hadn't fought back. Just took it. Bleeding. Crying. Thirteen years old and covered in motor oil and guilt.
"I did it for you," he'd sobbed. "For us. Grandfather will love you more now—he'll finally see you. Uncle Evander will fall apart, and Grandfather will have to turn to you. The company—you'll have a real chance now. A real shot at—"
I'd hit him again. And again. Trying to beat the truth out of him. Trying to beat the wrongness out of what he'd done.
But when he finally collapsed—when he curled up on the floor, small and broken and mine—
I'd stopped.
I'd looked at my bloody hands. At my son, barely breathing, whimpering like a wounded animal.
And I'd knelt down beside him.
Pulled him into my arms.
Held him while he shook and bled and whispered "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
"It's okay," I'd heard myself say. "It's going to be okay."
Liar.
"We'll never speak of this again," I'd whispered into his hair. "Do you understand? This is our secret. Our only secret."
He'd nodded against my chest.
And I'd forgiven him.
God help me, I'd forgiven my son for murder.
The door closed behind me with a sound like a coffin lid.
And somewhere in the dark, I could still hear Felix's voice.
"I did it for you."