In Andrew Sterling’s office, only one lamp was lit—a dim circle of light on a massive desk covered in files, the old portrait of his son, and an open bottle of scotch. The man sat hunched over, his fingers white as he gripped a report from his head of security.
Every line felt like a knife. The fire at St. Jude’s. The official version was an electrical short—an accident. Но there was a paper trail that was too clean, too convenient. A month after the fire, the lead inspector had retired and bought a beach house in Florida with cash.
Andrew saw the accounts, the transfers, the signatures. Every thread led back to one charitable organization—The Evergreen Foundation. He flipped through the pages until his eyes stopped on the signature at the bottom. His heart hammered against his ribs. The signature: Robert Sterling. His brother-in-law, his late wife’s brother.
The man who had stood beside him at his wife’s funeral. The man he had trusted with the company’s legal affairs. The one who came every year on this very day to comfort him, bringing a bottle of expensive bourbon and saying, “You have to let go, Andy.” Now, Sterling felt something colder than steel rising within him.
Betrayal had a name, a voice, and a smile. He stood up heavily. He walked over to the fireplace, looking at Ethan’s portrait.
“They kept you in a home,” he said aloud, the words a confession of his own failure. “Ten years. For ten years I was paying, without knowing it, to keep you hidden from me.”
The phone on the desk buzzed. He startled, then reached for it. The display showed a name—Rob Sterling. The snake was calling first. Andrew took a breath, forcing his voice to sound weak, like a man lost in grief.
— “Yeah, Rob.”
— “Andy,” the voice replied, smooth and warm. “I just wanted to check in. I know today is a rough one.”
— “Yeah,” Andrew said hollowly, “I’m just tired.”
— “I get it, buddy. Listen, I heard you cancelled the trip to Chicago. Everything okay? You’re not getting sick, are you?”
‘There it is. The check-in.’ He knew Rob had sensed something was off.
— “No, just didn’t have the energy. Not today,” Andrew replied.
— “Of course,” Rob drawled. “Look, I’m in the neighborhood. Why don’t I swing by? We’ll have a drink. For Sarah? For the boy?”
A pause. Andrew’s pulse throbbed in his temples.
— “Fine,” he said finally. “One drink.”
He hung up, staring at his son’s picture.
— “Forgive me,” he whispered. “Tonight, I’m letting the devil in.”
Twenty minutes later, the heavy oak front door opened. Footsteps echoed in the hall. The housekeeper was trying to protest.
— “Mr. Robert, Mr. Sterling asked for…”
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