The tape recorder lay in front of me, a black plastic box that had become a coffin for my father's final truth. His voice, broken and old, still echoed in my ears, overlaying the pounding of my own heart. " ... get out of here before..." Or it was interrupted.
I took out the memory card, put it in a metal watch box, and put it in the safe behind my grandfather's portrait. Proof. And the verdict. My father knew. He was making a deal with the devil, trying to buy our lives at the cost of our entire fortune. And lost. Reynolds never intended to leave any witnesses. My father realized this at the last moment, when it was too late. And he left this note-a scream. Not for the police. For us. The last warning that he didn't even have time to send.
The anger I'd been carrying all these weeks-at
