I didn't sleep that night.

Neither did Claire.

The police arranged extra patrols near our home while investigators tried to locate Marcus.

But knowing officers were nearby didn't erase what had happened inside our family.

Jordan barely spoke to me.

He sat at the kitchen table, looking at his college acceptance letter.

Maya remained upstairs.

Nia refused to sleep in her own room.

Our house was full of people.

Yet I had never felt so alone.

At six the next morning, Claire found me in the kitchen.

“You need to talk to Jordan,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“He thinks you don't believe in him anymore.”

I looked down.

“Maybe I gave him a reason.”

Claire sat across from me.

Her eyes were swollen from crying.

“I gave him one too.”

For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

Then she said something I would remember for the rest of my life.

“I was so afraid of failing Maya that I forgot Jordan needed his mother too.”

I reached across the table and took her hand.

“We both failed him yesterday.”

She nodded.

“But we can still make it right.”

At eight, I knocked on Jordan's bedroom door.

“Come in.”

He was packing a gym bag.

My heart sank.

“Where are you going?”

“To Uncle David's.”

David was Claire's older brother.

He lived twenty minutes away.

“Why?”

Jordan kept folding his clothes.

“Because I need space.”

“Son—”

“No, Dad.”

He finally looked at me.

His eyes were red.

“You don't understand what yesterday did to me.”

I stepped inside.

“Then tell me.”

He laughed bitterly.

“You asked me to prove I wasn't a monster.”

“That wasn't what I meant.”

“But that's what it felt like.”

He dropped a shirt onto the bed.

“I kept looking at your face, waiting for you to say you knew I wouldn't do something like that.”

I swallowed.

“You deserved to be heard.”

“Yes.”

His voice cracked.

“I did.”

I sat on the edge of his bed.

“Jordan, I'm sorry.”

He looked away.

“I don't want you to apologize just because the camera proved I was telling the truth.”

That hurt.

Because it exposed the real problem.

I had trusted evidence more than I had trusted my son's voice.

“You're right,” I said.

“I should have listened carefully and treated you fairly from the beginning. I shouldn't have assumed your guilt or pressured you while we were still learning what happened.”

His jaw tightened.

I continued.

“I love Maya. I needed to make sure she was safe. But protecting her never required treating you as guilty.”

Jordan looked at me.

A tear slipped down his cheek.

“Do you still see me the same way?”

My own eyes filled.

“I see a young man who faced something devastating and still stood here asking his father to believe him.”

I paused.

“And I'm proud of you.”

Jordan's face crumpled.

For the first time since the accusation, he let me hug him.

He held on tightly.

But when we separated, he still picked up his bag.

“I need a couple of days.”

I nodded.

“I understand.”

Letting him leave hurt.

But this time, I respected his decision.

Later that morning, Rachel came to the house.

She brought copies of the suspicious transfer agreement.

The signature looked like mine.

Almost perfect.

But the document contained a strange detail.

According to the notary section, I had signed it on February 14.

Valentine's Day.

Claire looked at me.

“Arthur, we weren't even in Georgia that day.”

She was right.

We had spent that weekend in Savannah.

Our twentieth wedding anniversary trip.

Rachel opened her laptop.

“Can you prove it?”

Claire immediately found our hotel confirmation and photographs.

Rachel nodded.

“This helps establish an alibi, although we'll need the original records and notary information.”

She turned another page.

Then frowned.

“What is it?” I asked.

“The witness signature.”

“Whose?”

Rachel looked up.

“Your father's former assistant.”

I stared at her.

“Mrs. Evelyn Price?”

“Yes.”

My father's assistant had retired years earlier.

She was seventy-three now.

She had worked for our family for nearly four decades.

She knew everything about the company.

And she had always disliked Marcus.

“Why would Evelyn sign anything for him?” I asked.

Rachel shook her head.

“That's what I want to find out.”

We contacted Evelyn that afternoon.

When she answered, I could hear music playing softly in the background.

“Arthur, sweetheart! How are you?”

I explained the document.

Her cheerful tone disappeared.

“I didn't witness any transfer.”

Rachel asked if we could visit.

Evelyn hesitated.

Then she whispered, “Don't come to my house.”

My stomach tightened.

“Why?”

“Because Marcus was here yesterday.”

I looked at Claire.

“What did he want?”

Evelyn's breathing became uneven.

“He asked me about your father's records.”

“Which records?”

“The ones your father left behind before he died.”

My heart began racing.

“Evelyn, what records?”

She lowered her voice.

“Your father knew Marcus was stealing.”

I closed my eyes.

She continued.

“He spent his final months collecting evidence.”

“Where is it?”

“I don't know. He only told me he gave something important to Jordan.”

The laptop.

Of course.

But then Evelyn said something else.

Something that made every hair on my arms rise.

“Arthur, your father didn't die believing Marcus was the only person involved.”

I went completely still.

“What are you saying?”

“There was someone else helping him.”

“Who?”

Evelyn began to cry.

“I think somebody inside your own house has known the truth all along.”