I almost felt sick.
My wife was standing behind them, weak, sick, and barely able to stay upright.
And they were already calculating.
Already imagining what they could take.
I reached into my pocket again.
This time, I removed a small recorder.
I placed it on the table.
“I think you should hear something.”
Theresa froze.
“What is that?”
“A recording.”
My mother’s face turned pale.
I pressed play.
Their own voices filled the backyard.
Every insult.
Every confession.
Every cruel word about Lucy.
Every discussion about my money.
Every plan they had made while believing I would never find out.
Brianna covered her mouth.
Theresa stepped backward.
“You recorded us?”
“No.”
I looked at Lucy.
“She did.”
Everyone turned.
Lucy slowly reached into her old coat pocket.
Her hands trembled as she pulled out a small phone.
