Chapter 3 - SHADOWS OF THE PAST
The revelation that my father’s death might have been a murder sent shockwaves through my entire reality. Two years ago, my father, Arthur Salazar, had passed away suddenly in his sleep. The official diagnosis at the time had been a fatal cardiac arrest. He had no history of heart trouble, but my mother had adamantly refused an autopsy, claiming it violated his personal religious beliefs. Blinded by grief, I hadn't questioned her.
Now, sitting in the hospital waiting room at 3:00 AM, the horrific truth began to dawn on me. My mother was a sociopath who had systematically destroyed our family for financial gain.
I walked down the hall to Eleanor's room. She was awake, sitting upright in her bed, staring blankly at the wall. An IV was hooked to her arm, and a police officer stood guard outside her door.
"Aunt Eleanor?" I said softly, knocking on the open door frame.
She turned slowly. The sunken hollows of her face made her look thirty years older than she was, but when she recognized me, a dim spark of warmth lit up her eyes.
"Adrian," she rasped, gesturing for me to sit on the chair beside her bed. "Come here, son."
I sat down and took her fragile, calloused hand. "I am so sorry, Eleanor. I didn't know. I swear on my life, I had no idea what was happening in that yard."
"I know, Adrian," she said quietly, her voice trembling with emotion. "Grace kept you in the dark. She manipulated you, just like she manipulated Arthur. You were always working, always away at construction sites trying to provide for everyone. She took advantage of your good heart."
"What happened to Dad?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, fearing the answer.
Eleanor squeezed my hand, tears rolling down her hollow cheeks. "Arthur found out what she was doing. Two years ago, right before he died, Arthur discovered that Grace had opened multiple credit cards in Brandon's name and was funneling money into offshore accounts. He confronted her. He told her he was filing for divorce and taking away her access to all accounts."
She paused, swallowing hard, her frame shaking.
"The night before he died, I was over at the house for dinner. I saw Grace put something into his evening tea. Powder. I didn't think much of it at the time—she claimed it was a holistic sleep aid. The next morning, Arthur was dead. When I started asking questions and insisted on an autopsy, Grace and Brandon ambushed me in my own home. They drugged me, brought me to your property, and locked me in that cellar."
"How did they keep you hidden for two years?" I asked, horror choking my throat.
"Brandon was responsible for bringing me food and water once a day—usually at night when you were asleep or away on business. They told me that if I ever made a sound while you were home, they would kill you and make it look like an accident. I stayed quiet to protect you, Adrian."
A brutal mix of rage, guilt, and profound sorrow washed over me. My father had been murdered. My aunt had been tortured and starved for two years to keep her silent. And my pregnant wife had almost suffered the exact same fate because she dared to stand up to my mother's demands.
At dawn, Detective Rodriguez returned. He motioned for me to follow him into an empty consultation room.
"Adrian, we've brought Grace and Brandon in for formal interrogation," Rodriguez said, pulling out a tablet. "Brandon is cracking. Under pressure, he's spilling everything to save his own skin."
"What is he saying?"
"Brandon claims Grace was the mastermind. He admitted that Grace poisoned your father with a lethal dose of digitalis—a heart medication she obtained illegally online. He confessed to helping her lock Eleanor in the cellar to prevent her from ordering an autopsy. And he confirmed that they intended to force Ellie to sign over the house title before staging an 'accidental' fall down the stairs to explain her injuries."
My stomach turned. They were going to murder my wife and unborn child.
"Where is Grace now?" I asked, my hands clenched into tight fists.
"She’s in an interrogation room at central precinct," Rodriguez replied. "She hasn't said a word. She’s demanding to speak with you."
"With me?"
"She claims she will only confess on record if you give her ten minutes face-to-face." Rodriguez looked at me intently. "You don't have to do this, Adrian. You are a victim in this case."
I stood up, my jaw set, a cold determination settling into my chest.
"Take me to her."
Half an hour later, I stood outside the interrogation room at the police station. The two-way mirror showed my mother sitting at a metal table, her hands handcuffed. She didn't look remorseful. She didn't look scared. She sat upright, her chin tilted up, looking as arrogant and self-righteous as ever.
I opened the door and walked inside, pulling out the heavy metal chair opposite her and sitting down.
Grace looked up, a twisted, bitter smile touching her lips.
"Well, well," she said, her voice dripping with spite. "The loyal son finally decides to see his mother."
"You poisoned Dad," I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion. "You tortured Eleanor. And you locked my pregnant wife in a shed to freeze and starve."
Grace laughed—a dry, chilling sound that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
"Your father was a weak fool who was going to ruin everything I worked for," she said without a shred of guilt. "And Eleanor was a nosy old hag who couldn't mind her own business. As for that girl you married..." Grace leaned forward, her eyes narrowing into cold slits. "...she took you away from me. You used to give me your entire paycheck. Then she came along, and suddenly you had 'boundaries.' She deserved everything she got."
"You are a monster," I said quietly.
"I am the woman who raised you!" she snapped, slamming her handcuffed hands onto the table. "You owe me everything, Adrian! You think that little brat is going to make you happy? She's weak! I did what had to be done to protect this family's future!"
I leaned across the table, looking directly into her cold, dead eyes.
"You didn't protect this family. You destroyed it. And you are going to die in a prison cell."
Grace's composure shattered. Her face twisted into a mask of pure rage as she lunged across the table toward me, her handcuffs rattling violently against the metal loops.
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"You ungrateful bastard!" she screamed, as two officers rushed into the room to restrain her. "You will regret this! I made you! You're nothing without me!"
I stood up, pulled my jacket around myself, and walked out without looking back.
