The blood on Mom’s robe—it wasn’t splattered. It looked… smeared.
Like it had been placed there.
Not earned.
Hours later, the officers returned.
They found the hidden drawer.
Inside it—documents. A USB drive. And photographs.
One photo changed everything.
It showed Victor standing beside a man I didn’t recognize.
Behind them, barely visible—my father.
On the back, in my father’s handwriting:
