“Elellanena,” Rob said in a dry voice, without moving from his spot. “You didn’t have to come.”
Those five words hurt me more than any physical blow.
I didn’t have time to respond, because at that moment an office door opened and a man in his fifties came out in an impeccable uniform and a serious expression.
Captain Charles Spencer.
When he saw me, he stopped short.
“Commander Stone.”
“Hello, Charles,” I said calmly. “It’s been a while.”
He approached, clearly surprised.
“No… I didn’t know you were involved in this case. If I had known—”
“Now you know,” I interrupted him. “And I need you to explain exactly what’s going on here.”
Because something told me that what I had heard on the phone was only the tip of the iceberg, and I was about to discover how deep the abyss my family had fallen into really was.
Spencer took me to his office. Ethan came with me, clinging to my hand as if he feared I would disappear. Rob and Chelsea stayed in the waiting room. I could feel my son’s gaze fixed on my back, but I didn’t turn around.
I wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction.
Spencer’s office was small but tidy. A metal desk, two chairs in front of it, a filing cabinet in the corner, and a crucifix on the wall. Not much had changed since my time. Even the smell of old coffee and paper was the same.
“Sit down, please,” Spencer said, closing the door behind us.
I sat in one of the chairs, and Ethan settled next to me. His gaze was lowered, his hands clasped in his lap. Spencer sat on the other side of the desk and opened a folder. He sighed before speaking.
“Commander, the situation is… complicated.”
“Explain the facts to me,” I said, without beating around the bush. “Her version first.”
Spencer nodded and consulted his notes.
“Ms. Chelsea Brooks filed the complaint at 11:43 p.m. She arrived accompanied by her husband, Mr. Robert Stone—your son. She alleges that, at approximately 10:30 p.m., the minor Ethan returned home after his permitted time. When she reprimanded him, he reacted violently, pushed her down the stairs, and hit her arm. She has bruises that partially match her story.”
Every word was like a needle sticking into my chest. I looked at Ethan. His head was still bowed, but I saw his hands trembling.
“And my grandson’s version?” I asked, although from Spencer’s tone, I already knew that no one had believed him.
“The minor alleges that Ms. Brooks was the one who assaulted him first. He says that when he arrived home, she was already angry, that she waited for him in the living room, and without saying a word, hit him with a blunt object—according to him, a silver candlestick. The wound on his eyebrow required three stitches.”
“Did you check for the candlestick?”
Spencer shook his head, uncomfortable.
“Ms. Brooks says that such an object doesn’t exist, that the boy invented that story to justify his aggression. And here comes the problem, Commander. The house security cameras were broken that night. Just that night.”
I leaned back in the chair, processing the information. It wasn’t a coincidence. None of this was.
“How convenient, right?” I murmured.
Spencer looked at me with that expression I knew well—the look of someone who knows something is not right, but doesn’t have enough evidence to act.
“The cameras had been broken for three days,” he said. “According to the husband, they were going to call the technician this week.”
“What about the neighbors’ cameras? Street cameras?”
“We are in the process of reviewing them, but the house is in a private residential area. There are no public cameras nearby.”
Of course not. Chelsea had planned this perfectly. Every detail, every move. This wasn’t a fit of anger. It was premeditated.
I turned to Ethan, put my hand over his.
“Look at me, son.”
