He had discovered something.
Money. Fraud. Names that didn’t belong on paper.
And one of those names…
was Ray.
The last entry in the ledger was dated the night my father died.
He had written about Ray coming over. About threats disguised as offers. About fear he couldn’t ignore.
And one line stayed burned into my memory:
“If anything happens to me… it was him.”
Ray didn’t just kill him.
He planned it.
He knew my mother’s weaknesses—her sleepwalking, her mental health struggles—and turned them into weapons.
He didn’t just commit murder.
He built a story the world was ready to believe.
