Chapter 263
Lance
The room seemed to tilt.
Thomas's grin widened. "Days. Maybe longer."
He stretched, rolling his shoulders like he'd just woken up from a nap. "Well, Agent Reeves, I have to say—this has been incredibly entertaining. All these moving speeches about Grace, about her grieving mother, about justice..." He shook his head, still smiling. "But you don't actually have anything, do you? Just a piece of paper with a number on it. And a whole lot of wasted time."
Diana's hands curled into fists. "Don't get too comfortable."
"Comfortable?" Thomas laughed again, louder this time. "I'm ecstatic. You dragged me down here, locked me in this room for hours, made me listen to your little morality play—and for what? You can't prove a damn thing."
He started toward the door again, moving with the kind of lazy confidence that made my blood boil.
"I think we're done here. Unless you plan to arrest me for something?" He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "No? Didn't think so. In that case, I'll be on my way. You all should probably head home too. Enjoy what's left of your evening."
His tone shifted on that last sentence. Darker. Heavier.
"Because you don't have much time left."
I slammed my hand down on the table, the sound echoing like a gunshot. "You're threatening us now?"
Thomas turned fully, meeting my gaze with that same cold amusement. "Threatening? No, Lance. Just stating facts. My son is lying in a hospital bed, barely alive. Meanwhile, the rest of you..." He trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air. "Well. Let's just say I'd be careful if I were you."
"You son of a—"
"I need to see Felix." He cut me off, already moving toward the door. "Unless you plan to stop me?"
No one moved. No one spoke.
And then—
"Agent Reeves."
Arthur's voice was barely a whisper, but it cut through the tension like a blade.
Everyone froze.
He stood slowly, his hands trembling as they gripped the edge of the table. "Show me that paper. The one with the number."
Thomas stopped. His hand was on the doorknob. But he didn't turn it.
Diana moved immediately, crossing the room to place the document in front of Arthur. He leaned over it, squinting at the faded handwriting.
"I can't read it," he said after a moment. His voice was strained. "My eyes... Diana, read it out loud. Please."
Thomas's shoulders tensed.
Diana picked up the paper, holding it steady as she read. "Two-one-two. Five-five-five. Oh-three-eight-seven."
The room went silent.
Arthur didn't move. Didn't breathe.
And then—
"Fuck."
The word came out choked, broken. Arthur staggered back a step, his face draining of color.
"You bastard."
Thomas still hadn't turned around.
"Thomas." Arthur's voice cracked. "THOMAS."
Slowly—so slowly—my uncle turned to face him.
Arthur's eyes were wet. His hands shook. "Nobody else would recognize that number. But I do. God help me, I do."
Thomas opened his mouth. Closed it.
"That was your first cell phone," Arthur said, his voice rising with every word. "The one I bought you and your brother when you were in high school. The numbers were identical except for the last two digits—yours ended in 87, his in 78. And do you know how many times I called that number? Do you have any idea?"
He took a step forward, and for a moment I thought he might collapse.
"Your brother—Lance's father—he fell in love with that girl. Grace. And I hated it. I thought she was beneath us, beneath him, and I..." He stopped, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. "I couldn't talk to him. Not face to face. I was too angry, too stubborn. So I called you. Every day. That number. We talked about him, about her, about what the hell we were supposed to do."
His voice broke completely.
"And the whole time—the whole goddamn time—you were the one who killed her."
Thomas's face was ashen. He didn't move. Didn't speak.
Arthur swayed, and for a second I thought he was going to fall. Thomas lunged forward, catching him by the shoulders.
"Dad—"
"Don't." Arthur shoved him back, or tried to. He didn't have the strength. "Don't you dare call me that."
"Dad, please—"
"What did you say to her?" Arthur's voice was barely audible now, but the fury in it was unmistakable. "What the hell did you say to Grace that morning?"
Thomas's grip tightened on Arthur's arms. His head dropped.
And in that moment, I knew.
We all knew.