Detective Chen called on Monday morning.
She had obtained footage from several guests and the hotel cameras.
She had interviewed people who saw the centerpiece strike me.
She wanted to know whether I could identify anyone who had heard Richard demand the deed immediately beforehand.
I gave her the names I knew.
Victoria.
A cousin named Owen.
A server whose name I didn't know.
I described the positions of our chairs.
I described my mother's hand on my shoulder.
I did not claim to remember Richard's words after the blow.
Chen sounded relieved that I had kept to what I knew.
She said the case would be referred for charging review when the evidence package was ready.
I asked whether he had been arrested.
“Not as of this call,” she said.
“There are decisions to make about risk, evidence, and procedure.”
It was hard to accept that Richard could be sitting in his house eating breakfast while I was still dizzy.
But impatience wouldn't heal my head.
After we hung up, Harrison found me standing at the kitchen sink.
I'd washed the same mug three times.
“Sit down,” he said.
“I want to do something useful.”
“Then eat breakfast.”
He slid eggs onto a plate.
I ate two bites before my stomach settled.
That afternoon I called Derek.
It took three attempts before he answered.
He recognized my voice immediately.
“Gideon?”
“Yeah.”
A long silence followed.
I told him I wanted to discuss the heating unit.
He said that was years ago.
I told him I knew.
Then he asked if Richard had sent me.
“No.”
I explained the wedding assault.
Derek said he had heard a story online but thought it was exaggerated.
I told him the stitches were real.
He stopped talking.
Finally he said, “I didn't finish that job.”
“You broke the windows.”
He didn't answer.
“Did Richard pay you?”
“You know what I said.”
“Will you say it to an investigator?”
He said he had children now.
He had a steady job.
He didn't want to ruin his life over a terrible decision made when he was desperate for money.
I told him I understood why he was afraid.
I did not tell him I forgave him.
He asked for a day to think.
I gave him Chen's work number and ended the call.
A few days after Derek agreed to speak with investigators, I found an old folder from the construction period.
It was labeled HEATING in thick black marker.
Inside were receipts for replacement fittings, photographs of the damaged unit, and a warranty note from the installer.
I had kept everything because the repairs were expensive.
At the time I thought I might file a claim against whoever was damaging the property.
Then I got busy finishing the house.
I never followed through.
One photograph showed a bent protective panel beside the heating unit.
The metal had a fresh dent.
Another showed the cracked water line after a winter freeze.
I didn't know whether the same person caused both things.
I made separate notes rather than linking them without proof.
Harrison asked whether I wanted him to look through the images.
He remembered the damaged lumber.
He remembered helping me board up the broken windows.
But he admitted he hadn't witnessed anyone causing those losses.
His testimony could establish what he saw afterward.
It could not establish who had swung the hammer.
We scanned the folder.
I sent copies to Leah and told Chen they were available if relevant.
Then I put the originals away.
Derek's own account would need testing.
I didn't want old anger to make us careless.
That afternoon I went outside for a short walk.
The hillside had gone brown after several dry weeks.
I remembered kneeling there three years earlier, pulling roots out of the soil.
At the time there was no driveway.
No foundation.
No place to sit when I got tired.
I ate sandwiches on the tailgate of my truck.
One evening Richard drove up in his clean sedan to inspect my progress.
He asked how much money I'd wasted.
I told him what I'd spent.
He whistled and said I'd never get it back.
He didn't ask whether I was eating properly or how many hours I worked.
I remembered that visit because he stepped out of the car only long enough to criticize the foundation stakes.
Then he drove away before sunset.
I had wished he'd stayed to help.
Now I wished I'd stopped waiting for it sooner.
When I returned home, Harrison had placed an apple and a glass of water on the counter.
He was reading a newspaper.
Neither of us mentioned my father.
I sat and ate the apple.
Sometimes the best thing about being believed was that the conversation could end.
Harrison watched me set the phone down.
“You don't need to chase every piece of this yourself,” he said.
I knew he was right.
But I had never liked leaving unfinished work to strangers.
That night a local reporter called.
Someone had posted a shaky video from the wedding.
The clip showed Richard swinging.
It showed me falling.
It did not show the long argument over the house.
The caption called the incident a family feud over an inheritance.
The reporter wanted a statement.
Leah advised me not to conduct the investigation in public.
I sent one sentence through her office confirming that I was receiving care and cooperating with authorities.
Then I put my phone away.
By Wednesday, strangers had opinions about my life.
Some said I should have given my brother the house.
Some wanted Richard jailed immediately.
Others treated Victoria's wedding as entertainment.
I couldn't control the comments.
I could control whether I read them.
Harrison helped turn off the alerts.
We went outside to the porch.
The autumn air smelled of pine and wet soil.
The house stood exactly where I had built it.
Nothing online could change that.
Then Derek called back.
He said he'd spoken with an attorney of his own.
She had advised him about potential legal exposure.
He would not make a casual recorded confession to me.
But he was willing to speak through proper channels.
He still had messages from Richard on an old phone backup.
He also remembered being paid in two cash installments.
I gave him Chen's number again.
He said, “I don't expect you to be nice about this.”
“I won't invent excuses for you,” I replied.
“But I'll tell the truth about what you do now.”
When the call ended, I sat on the porch steps.
Harrison lowered himself beside me.
He handed me a sweater because the air had turned cold.
A car passed on the road below.
For once, no one demanded anything from me.
The silence lasted nearly ten minutes.
Then my phone lit up with a message from Gregory.
Richard wants to meet you privately and explain himself.
I read it aloud.
Harrison didn't answer.
I typed back two words.
Not privately.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: The Notary Record Leads to an Awkward Question Tristan Cannot Explain
The Bride Takes the Microphone While Gideon Lies Bleeding Beside Table Twelve
Part 6 of 16
