He didn’t look up when I approached. “Did the lights catch it?” I asked. “No small talk.” He paused, tensed, then slowly stood, wiping his palms on his jeans. His voice was soft, like it had spent years being ignored. “Catch what?” “The assault, my daughter.” The whole 83 seconds.
His eyes flicked to mine just for a heartbeat. Then away again. They said the cameras were offline, he muttered. That what they told you to say or what you saw. No answer. He just bent again to the motion sensor. Tools rattled against the housing plate. I took a step closer. Look, I don’t need you to testify. I don’t need you to go public.
But if those cameras were running, if anything was captured, it could prove she didn’t just fall. Elden’s fingers froze against the screwdriver. For a long moment, he didn’t move, then quietly. They always say the cameras are down. They’re not. He stood, eyes still not meeting mine. Valerie doesn’t let footage leave the boardroom unless she’s in it clean.
I swallowed hard. So, it’s there. He looked past me across the green toward nothing. If you know where to look. That was the closest I’d get for now. But it was enough. He started to walk away, toolbox swinging slightly. Elden, I said. He stopped. You saw what she did, didn’t you? His jaw tensed. I could see the muscle twitch.
His back remained turned. I saw what everyone else saw, he said. Only difference is I didn’t look away. Then he kept walking. That night, Lyra tried to sit at the dinner table. She didn’t make it 2 minutes. The chair curved wrong. The weight shifted unevenly. A breath caught in her throat as she stood again, mumbling something about her spine aching and her stomach feeling off.
