Chapter 5
The coastal life suited us well,
a quiet existence tucked between the towering pines and the relentless gray of the Pacific.
I had built a small office in the back of the house,
filled with screens and surveillance gear,
but instead of hunting down frauds,
I was mostly helping local shop owners protect their registers.
It was enough to pay the bills,
and it left me plenty of time to work on my own projects.
One afternoon,
while I was deep in a series of line-coded data streams,
my mother wandered into the room.
She had a tray with two steaming mugs and a small plate of shortbread cookies.
She set them down on the desk,
her movements as graceful as they had been when I was a child.
"You're working too hard, Liam," she said,
her voice soft.
"It’s just a standard security audit, Mom.
Nothing like the old days."
"Good," she said,
taking a seat in the leather chair near the window.
"I like it better this way.
The quiet suits you."
I leaned back,
stretching my sore neck.
"Sometimes I still expect to hear the door lock," I admitted,
my voice barely a whisper.
Mom’s smile faded,
her gaze shifting to the window.
"Trauma isn't something you leave in a box, Liam.
It’s a guest who stays for a while.
But eventually,
the guest gets tired and leaves."
"I hope so," I said.
"I really hope so."
As if on cue,
the phone on my desk rang.
It was a private number,
something that made my skin crawl with old, buried instincts.
I picked up the receiver,
my pulse jumping to a familiar, dangerous tempo.
"Liam Moretti?" a man’s voice asked.
It was deep,
controlled,
the voice of someone who had never known the sting of a bruise.
"Who’s this?"
"My name is Agent Miller,
Department of Corrections.
I’m calling because your ex-wife has requested a mediation hearing."
I felt the blood drain from my face.
"Mediation?
For what?"
"She’s claiming she was coerced into the plea deal," Miller said.
"She’s demanding a retrial,
citing evidence of 'undue influence' by you and Dr. Thorne."
I looked at Mom.
She was looking at me,
her eyes wide with sudden, sharp fear.
"She’s trying to drag us back into it," I said,
my voice a flat, dead line.
"She’s trying to flip the script."
"I’m just doing my job, sir," Miller continued.
"But I wanted to give you a heads-up.
She’s got a new attorney,
and he’s digging hard for any leverage."
I put the phone down,
the plastic cool against my palm.
"She's still fighting," Mom said,
her voice trembling.
"She’s still playing the game."
"She’s not playing a game, Mom," I said,
reaching for my laptop and beginning to type.
"She’s starting a war."
I didn't feel the panic I had felt months ago.
I felt something much colder,
much more precise.
I had all the digital trails,
all the recordings,
all the proof.
If she wanted a war,
she would have one.
But this time,
I would be the one writing the ending.
I pulled up a folder I had tucked away in an encrypted partition,
a file containing everything I had kept,
just in case.
I was ready.
I had been ready since the day I walked into that dark bedroom and saw the bruises on Mom's wrists.
This time,
I wouldn't just defend my home.
I would ensure that the person who tried to destroy it would never have the chance to touch another life again.
"We’re going to be okay, Mom," I said,
my fingers flying across the keys.
"Because this time,
she’s not the only one with secrets."
I hit the 'Send' key,
the information traveling across the country to the prosecutor’s office,
a digital dossier that would ensure her plea deal was the last thing she ever received.
I closed the laptop and looked at the ocean.
May you like
The storm was coming,
but I was already standing in the shelter.
