Soon. We would be out of here soon.
I rubbed a hand over her hair. “Lock the doors, and don’t get out. No matter what.” I kissed her forehead. “I’ll be right back.”
The house was empty when I walked inside. Everything looked exactly the same, yet so completely unrecognizable. This wasn’t home, not anymore. Chandler’s guy had hacked into the security system to disable the cameras. I worried I might need him to unlock the door, but Dad hadn’t even changed the code on the front door keypad. Then again, why would he? I was supposed to be dead.
I walked across the foyer and down the hallway to his study. The door was open, and he stood in front of his window with a glass of scotch in his hand, the way he always did, the way I knew he would be. I’d made sure to wait until my mother and the staff were gone.
“Hello, Dad.”
He spun around at the sound of my voice. His face paled, and the glass in his hand went crashing to the floor, leaving a puddle of amber and ice at his feet. He held a hand on the bar cabinet beside him to keep from collapsing onto the pile of broken glass.
“I can see you’re surprised.” I took a few steps into the room.
“How did you—” He brought a hand to his chest. “You’re okay. You survived. They said there weren’t any survivors.”
That wasn’t relief. It was fear.
I walked over to his desk and pulled out his chair. “Here. You should have a seat. You don’t look well.” I opened the drawer and pulled out a pen and some paper with his letterhead.
When he didn’t sit down, I walked over to him and dragged him to the chair.
I slid a pair of leather gloves into my hands. “You have two options.” I pulled out my cell phone and set it on the desk next to the paper. “We can call the police and have a little chat.” I looked up and to the side as though deep in thought. “What’s the sentence for attempted murder?” I snapped my fingers and looked back at him. “Oh, and let’s not forget about Khalid. I bet those prisons in the Middle East are a bitch.” My dad set himself up for that one the minute he’d told the authorities Khalid was on that plane. I grabbed the gun from my waistband and sat on the edge of his desk. “Or we can end this whole fucking mess right now.”
He huffed a laugh at the sight of the gun. “You won’t use that.”
I grinned. “You’re right. I won’t.” I handed him the pen. “You will.” I smirked. “Or at least everyone will think you did. It’s all about the illusion, right.”
Even if the cops suspected foul play, they couldn’t pin a murder on a dead guy, and I was dead long before my father would be.
He tossed the pen onto the desk. It rolled across the wood, stopped by a paperweight.
“See, you were so distraught over losing your only son. The pain was unbearable.” I picked up the pen and handed it back to him. “Write.”
Dad jotted down the first three lines of his “suicide” note. “You took the money.” His voice shook when he spoke. Whether it was anger or fear, I didn’t know. Didn’t care.
“It was my money to take.”
“It will ruin you, you know.”
“No, Dad.” I poised my finger on the trigger. “It ruined you.Youruined me.” And then I pressed the metal to his temple and fired.
After stopping by my room to change clothes, I tossed mine in a plastic bag and went to my parents’ room. I looked at the framed family photo on the nightstand and asked my mother’s image for forgiveness.
Then I placed a book on her bed—Greek Mythology, bookmarked on page 144, the story of Alethiea, daughter of Zeus, goddess of truth. Between the pages, I left her a note. It simply read:Veritas Nunquam Perit: The truth never perishes.
I grabbed my bag and went back to the landscaping truck we’d bought on eBay, flipping the bird to my father’s corpse as I sped out of the driveway.