I remembered fumbling for my phone after drinking the tea.
I’d tried calling him.
“I thought it never went through.”
“It did.”
Owen glanced toward the trees.
“When I heard you’d died, I knew the timing felt off. Victoria had the house cleaned out right away, so I checked what they were throwing away.”
“And you found the recorder.”
“I found a hundred useless things first.”
He held it out to me.
I closed my hand around the cracked device.
For most of my life I’d believed power came in large forms.
Companies.
Fortunes.
Mansions.
Names carved into buildings.
But the most powerful thing I’d ever held was a broken recorder, pulled from a trash bag by a brother I’d pushed away.
I looked toward Blackridge Manor, where staff were setting up for the company’s annual family picnic.
Kids chased each other across the lawn.
Music drifted from near the old barrel house.
Life kept going.
Not the life I’d had before.
Something better.
A life free of Victoria’s lies.
A company saved from the people who’d tried to take it.
A bond with my brother restored by the thinnest possible margin.
I handed the recorder back to Owen.
“Keep it.”
“Why?”
“So next time I ignore your advice, you can drop it on my desk.”
He smiled.
“I’ll frame it.”
We headed toward the picnic.
Halfway there, Owen stopped.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask.”
“What?”
“While you were stuck in the coffin, could you actually hear everything?”
I nodded.
“Unfortunately.”
“So you heard my speech at the hospital about how much I admire you?”
“You didn’t give a speech.”
“Good.”
“But you cried.”
“I had allergies.”
“In February?”
“Rare winter allergies.”
I laughed as we headed down the hill.
Behind us, the chapel doors stood open.
For a long time I’d thought of that building as the place my life nearly ended.
Now I saw it differently.
It was where the deception finally came apart.
Where my brother refused to accept a convenient lie.
