I pointed to one of the insurance forms.
It was the question I knew he couldn’t resist answering.
“After the house,” I said.
“Who gets the money?”
He took the page from me.
“Insurance will cover the property.
There are expenses first.
Your mother’s arrangements.
Debts.
Everything gets complicated.
That’s why you need me.”
“Were there debts?”
His eyes lifted.
“Every family has bills.”
“Mom worried about them?”
“Your mother worried about everything.”
Again, he tried to turn evidence into a flaw in the person who found it.
Then he leaned closer and lowered his voice.
“Listen to me.
Whatever your mother may have said about the accounts before the fire, it doesn’t matter now.
You don’t need to repeat things you aren’t sure you remember.
Do you understand?”
My pulse jumped.
He had just mentioned the accounts without me telling him anyone else knew about them.
I stared at him with the empty expression he expected.
“What did she say?”
He realized it a second too late.
“Nothing important.”
“You said she said something.”
“I said you’re confused.”
His hand closed around mine.
Harder this time.
“You’re hurt.
You lost your mother.
Stop trying to reconstruct things that aren’t there.”
The door opened behind him.
Detective Ortiz stepped inside.
My father’s hand released mine instantly.
She didn’t look at me.
She looked directly at him.
“Mr.
Hale, I need you to come with me.”
His face emptied.
“Why?”
“We need to clarify your movements before the fire.”
He stood slowly.
“I already gave a statement.”
“You’ve given more than one.”
The words landed cleanly.
He looked at me.
Not with grief.
Not with love.
With calculation.
He finally understood.
“You remember,” he said.
