Chapter 7 - THE RECORDING THAT COULD DESTROY ME
Patrick had edited audio from the night Isabella died.
My voice.
“Take care of it.”
Then a crash.
Then Arthur saying:
“She won’t be a problem again.”
Out of context, it sounded like a murder order.
The truth?
I had been talking about a stolen shipment.
Arthur’s response referred to an employee who had been fired.
The timestamps had been manipulated.
Experts could prove it.
Children could still hear it and believe it.
That was Patrick’s weapon.
Not court.
Emotion.
Jack already believed I sent weakness away.
Rosie believed soft women broke families.
If Patrick could make them believe I ordered their mother’s death, he could break whatever trust remained.
I finally understood the eleven weeks of abuse.
Camille was not merely punishing them.
She was preparing them.
Training their minds to accept a story:
Dad is dangerous.
Mom died because weakness disgusted him.
If you speak, he will remove you too.
Then when the fake recording appeared, it would feel true.
That was the most sophisticated cruelty of all.
Naomi looked at me.
“You see it.”
“Yes.”
“Now what?”
“We talk to the children.”
“No.”
I stared.
She explained.
“Not everything.”
“They deserve truth.”
“Yes.”
“But truth at their age means safety before detail.”
Again, Naomi knew my children better than I did.
That hurt.
Also useful.
We brought in a child trauma specialist unaffiliated with my world.
Jack and Rosie spoke privately.
I was not allowed inside.
I hated that.
I respected it.
Two hours later, Dr. Maya Chen met me.
“They’re afraid of disappointing you.”
“I know.”
“They are more afraid of losing you than being punished.”
That was worse.
“Camille used grief.”
Maya nodded.
“She repeatedly linked their mother’s death to emotional weakness.”
My hands tightened.
“What do I do?”
“Become predictable.”
I frowned.
“Meaning?”
“When they make mistakes, respond safely.”
“When they cry, stay.”
“When they tell the truth, do not punish the truth.”
Simple.
Harder than shooting a man.
Maya continued.
“And stop disappearing without explanation.”
That one hurt.
My business taught me secrecy.
Fatherhood apparently required the opposite.
That evening, Jack asked:
“Did Mom die because of you?”
There it was.
No preparation.
No warning.
I sat beside him.
“No.”
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
“Did people want to hurt her because she married you?”
I did not lie.
“Yes.”
His face fell.
That was harder.
“I’m sorry.”
He looked at his hands.
“Miss Camille said you ruin everyone.”
Rosie whispered:
“Are we next?”
I could barely breathe.
“No.”
Then I corrected myself.
“I will do everything I can to keep you safe. But I won’t promise nothing bad can ever happen.”
Jack looked up.
“Why not?”
“Because promises should be true.”
Something changed in his face.
Then he nodded.
That night, Rosie brought me Isabella’s rabbit.
“You can keep it.”
I pushed it back.
“No.”
“It has secrets.”
“So do you.”
She frowned.
“What?”
“Things belong to you even when they contain things adults want.”
She hugged the rabbit.
Then Naomi called me into the hall.
Her face was pale.
“Camille is gone.”
“What?”
“She left the penthouse.”
“Where?”
“We tracked the car.”
Naomi swallowed.
May you like
“She went to the facility where her mother is being held.”
Patrick was already there.
