Chapter 6 - LEO'S PROMISE
"She found the accounts," Marcus said, his voice dropping into a flat, emotionless register that made my blood run cold. "Your sister thought she was a genius. She started digging through the corporate restructuring files. She figured out I was bleeding the firm dry to cover my debts."
"You monster," Mom wept softly, rocking back and forth on the sofa. "She loved you."
"Love doesn't pay bills, Helen," Marcus replied coldly, showing not an ounce of remorse.
I looked down at Leo. The little boy hadn't flinched once during Marcus’s confession. He stepped away from the casket, walking over to stand right beside me, slipping his small, warm hand into mine.
"Mom told me to wait for the sound," Leo said quietly, looking up at me. "She said daddy hid a bad machine in her clothes, and that when it buzzed at midnight, Aunt Sarah would know how to call the real police instead of the ones daddy brought here."
A fresh wave of tears broke over my eyelids, but this time, they were fueled by a fierce, blinding resolve. Rachel hadn't just left a voicemail; she had anticipated Marcus’s moves. She had known he would try to rush her burial before an independent autopsy could be performed. She had trusted her eight-year-old son with the most important job in the world—to keep watch until help arrived.
"You're right, my love," I whispered, squeezing Leo's hand tightly. "Your mom is the smartest person I've ever known."
I raised the burner phone, holding it up so Marcus could see it clearly.
"The local police might be friends with your country club buddies, Marcus," I said, dialing 911 on the burner device. "Let's see how the state homicide division likes an encrypted murder confession live-streamed directly into their active server."
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Marcus lunged forward, trying to sprint toward the front door, but Aunt Martha—fueled by a lifetime of protective sisterly rage—lifted a heavy ceramic umbrella stand from the hallway corner and hurled it directly into his path.
Marcus tripped hard over the heavy ceramic jar, crashing face-first onto the hardwood floor just as the 911 dispatcher picked up on the other end of the line.
