I knew that already. I could tell from the set of his shoulders, the tension in his face, the way his eyes keep scanning the room like he's noting every detail. My father is many things, but subtle isn't one of them.
I sit down in the chair across from him, keeping my posture relaxed, my expression neutral. Whatever he's about to say, I need to be ready for it.
"I've been doing some digging," he begins. "Into Marcus Webb's disappearance."
The words land like a punch to the gut, but I don't let it show. I keep my breathing steady, my hands loose on the armrests, my face a careful mask of mild curiosity.
"I thought the police were handling that."
"The police are incompetent." Nicholas waves a dismissive hand. "I have resources they don't. And I have a vested interest in making sure this situation doesn't blow back on our family."
"What kind of resources?"
"The kind that can access cell tower records." His eyes lock onto mine, cold and calculating. "Marcus's phone pinged a tower near our cabin the same day his car was found abandoned. The same day you were there with that girl."
I can hear the ocean outside, the endless rhythm of the waves that usually calms me. Right now, it sounds like white noise.
"I know you were at the cabin when Marcus disappeared," Nicholas continues. "What I don't know is why. And I need you to tell me. Now."
I consider my options. I could lie. I could deny everything, claim the cell tower data is wrong, insist I have no idea what happened to Marcus Webb. My father might even believe me, or at least pretend to.
But Nicholas Crawford didn't build an empire by being fooled easily. He's spent his entire life reading people, manipulating them, staying three steps ahead of everyone else in the room. If I lie to him now and he finds out later, the consequences will be far worse than whatever punishment the truth might bring.
And there's another consideration. One I don't like to admit, even to myself.
Ineedhis help.
The body is buried in frozen ground that's starting to thaw. The police are asking questions. Dominic Webb is out there somewhere, grieving his brother, looking for answers. Sooner or later, someone is going to find something. And when they do, I need to have a plan.
My father has spent forty years making problems disappear. If anyone can help me navigate this situation, it's him.
"He came to the cabin." The words come out flat, emotionless. I've practiced this in my head a thousand times, but saying it out loud is different. Harder.
Nicholas's expression doesn't change. "Why?"
"He was angry with me because of the investors pulling out. But I wasn’t there. She was. He blamed her for what had happened. I didn't realize how dangerous he was until it was toolate." I pause, forcing myself to meet my father's eyes. "He broke in while I was in the other room. By the time I got there, he had her pinned against the wall. His hands around her throat. He was going to… rape her."
Something flickers in Nicholas's gaze. Not sympathy, exactly. But something close to understanding. Recognition, maybe. Of what it feels like to see someone you love in danger.
"And?" His voice is carefully neutral.
"I stopped him."
"Stopped him how?"
The question hangs in the air between us. I think about all the ways I could answer. All the euphemisms I could use to soften the truth, to make it sound less brutal than it was.
But my father doesn't want euphemisms. He wants facts.
"Permanently."
Nicholas is silent for a long moment. I watch his face, searching for some reaction, some indication of what he's thinking. But his expression remains impassive, a mask of control that I've spent my whole life trying to replicate.
Finally, he speaks.
"Where's the body?"
Not how could you or what were you thinking or do you understand what you've done. Just where's the body. Practical. Efficient. Focused on the problem that needs solving rather than the moral implications of how we got here.
