Chapter 4 - The Confession in the Rain
Finding Marcus Sterling wasn't difficult, but it required a different kind of stealth. The former prison counselor had retired two years prior, using a sudden influx of wealth to purchase a beautiful, secluded lake house in Geneva, Illinois—about an hour's drive west of the city.
Arthur insisted on driving. His old Buick LeSabre groaned as it navigated the heavy rain that had begun to fall over the Illinois plains, the windshield wipers slapping a steady, rhythmic beat against the glass. Matthew sat in the passenger seat, his canvas bag between his feet, his mind running through every detail of the seven years he had lost.
"He lives at the end of a private road," Arthur said, his eyes fixed on the dark, glistening asphalt. "Richard told me Sterling had moved to Florida after he left the Department of Corrections. Another lie."
They pulled up to a neat, two-story house with a wrap-around porch overlooking the grey, choppy waters of the lake. A luxury sedan was parked in the driveway, covered in a fine sheen of rain.
Matthew didn't wait for his father to turn off the engine. He stepped out into the downpour, his jacket soaking through instantly as he walked up to the front door. He didn't knock gently; he threw his shoulder against the wood, the heavy thud echoing through the quiet house.
The door opened a few inches, held by a brass security chain. A man in his early sixties with sharp, nervous eyes and a silk dressing gown looked out. It took him three seconds to recognize the face of the inmate he had spent seven years monitoring.
"Reyes?" Sterling gasped, his face draining of color. "What... what are you doing here? You're not supposed to be out until next month."
"The parole board gave me an early release for good behavior, Mr. Sterling," Matthew said, his voice dangerously low as he wedged his heavy boot into the door frame. "I came to deliver a letter. Personally."
"Get your foot out of my door, or I’ll call the county sheriff," Sterling threatened, though his voice shook violently as he tried to slam the wood shut.
Matthew didn't argue. He leaned his entire weight against the door. The brass security chain ripped out of the wooden frame with a loud, splintering crack, and the door burst open, sending Sterling sprawling backward onto the polished hardwood floor of his foyer.
Matthew stepped inside, dripping wet, his shadow stretching long and dark across the elegant hallway. Arthur followed him, his cane thudding heavily against the floor as he shut the door behind them, locking it with a sharp, definitive turn of the deadbolt.
"You're done writing letters, Sterling," Matthew said, walking over to stand directly above the fallen man. He reached into his pocket and threw the handful of forged prison documents onto Sterling’s chest. "I want the logs. I want the original appeals I filed that you intercepted. And I want the bank records showing exactly how much my uncle Richard paid you to keep my family away from me."
Sterling scrambled backward until his spine hit the base of a grandfather clock. "I don't know what you're talking about! The Department of Corrections handled all mail according to standard security protocols—"
"Don't lie to me!" Matthew roared, leaning down until his face was inches from the counselor’s. The raw, unbridled rage of seven years of stolen life vibrated in his chest. "I met the warden on my way out, Sterling. He told me that my file had been flagged for 'special administrative review' by your office every single quarter. You didn't just intercept the letters; you kept a duplicate set of the real ones in your private safe to make sure Richard always knew what I was telling the chaplain!"
Sterling looked from Matthew to Arthur, who stood by the door like a silent, unyielding monument of old-fashioned justice. The counselor’s arrogance completely shattered. He let out a long, shuddering sigh, his shoulders slumping as he realized the wall he had built had finally collapsed.
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"It’s in the study," Sterling whispered, his eyes fixed on the floor. "In the floor safe behind the bookcase. The original letters... and the ledger. Richard... Richard told me it was just a corporate matter. He said he was protecting the family from a public scandal. I didn't know he was going to let you stay in there for the full seven years."
"You knew exactly what you were doing," Matthew said, grabbing the man by the collar of his silk gown and dragging him to his feet. "Lead the way."
