Where is it? I asked calmly, stepping inside. Your sister’s amateur painting? He gestured to the living room where the lighthouse piece leaned against the stone fireplace. Brooke sat in her favorite armchair, looking like she was presiding over a board meeting rather than a hostage situation. Malcolm Jones paced near the windows, checking his phone nervously.
Amateur? I allowed myself a small smile. That’s what you always said. Never even bothered to look closely at it, did you? Too focused on belittling anything that came from my family. Enough games, Brooke snapped. We know Leah hid documents inside it. Hand over any copies you’ve made and we can discuss a mutually beneficial resolution.
I walked over to the painting, studying it in the fading light. You know what I always loved about Leah’s art? Her attention to detail. The way she layered things. Like this lighthouse. Did you ever notice it’s not just one building? There’s another structure reflected in the water, but it’s slightly different. Almost like like what? Matthew demanded like she painted two different versions of the truth.
The one above the water that everyone sees and the one below hidden but still there. I turned to face them. Kind of like your family, isn’t it? Brooke stood, her patience visibly thinning. If you think Richard saw it, too, didn’t he? I cut her off. The hidden truth. That’s why you killed him. The room went deadly silent. Malcolm stopped pacing. Leah told you.
