Mr. Timothy’s expression darkened the moment I mentioned Lorenzo’s name. His fingers drummed anxiously against the desk, his breathing shallow. I could see the conflict in his eyes—the desperate need to conceal whatever truth he was hiding and the realization that I was too close to the answers to be ignored.
“Lorenzo,” he repeated under his breath, as if the name itself was poisonous. He shut his laptop abruptly, the sound echoing through the tense silence of his office.
“You need to forget about this, Mary,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
His words sent a chill through me. Forget? After everything I had seen? After the video, the threats, and now his reaction? There was no turning back.
I squared my shoulders. “I can’t do that.”
Mr. Timothy’s jaw clenched. He loo
