Chapter 9: The Last Seam
We stayed two nights at Aiden's sister's house on the other side of the city.
Her name was Ruth, and she asked no questions, made up the spare room, and left a pot of soup on the stove.
I ate two bowls and slept for nine hours, which I hadn't done in longer than I could remember.
On the third morning, Carla called.
"Thomas Weller gave his full statement yesterday afternoon," she said.
"He identified the vehicle that hjt Harold's car.
It was registered to Raymond Colt's company at the time.
The registration was transferred to a private buyer six weeks after the accident — a buyer we've now confirmed was a former employee of Raymond's who has since left the country." She paused.
"We also had a forensic accountant go through the financial records on the USB drive overnight.
The transfers are traceable.
Raymond moved the money through three accounts, but the trail is intact.
Harold's records are accurate."
I was standing in Ruth's kitchen, still in the clothes I'd slept in.
"What happens now?" I asked.
"Raymond Colt was brought in for questioning this morning at six AM."
I sat down.
"He came voluntarily," Carla continued.
"His solicitor advised him to.
I think he believed he could still manage the situation." A brief pause.
"He couldn't.
When we presented the financial records and the witness statement together, his solicitor asked for a recess.
When they came back, Raymond made a partial admission.
He admitted to the financial fraud.
He's still denying involvement in the accident."
"He'll deny it until he can't."
"Yes.
But Thomas Weller's statement puts Raymond's vehicle at the scene.
The registration transfer six weeks later is suspicious on its face.
And we have Raymond on record, in Harold's audio, saying Harold wouldn't make it to Monday." Her voice was careful.
"It's not a confession.
But it's enough to charge.
The Crown Prosecution Service will make the final call, but my recommendation is going forward."
I pressed my hand flat on the kitchen table.
"He'll say Harold's records were fabricated," I said.
"He'll say the audio was edited.
He'll say Thomas Weller is lying."
"He'll say all of those things," Carla agreed.
"And a jury will decide.
That's how it works." A pause.
"I want to be honest with you.
This will take time.
It will not be clean or fast.
There will be moments when it looks like it might fall apart.
But the evidence is real, and it came from your daughter, and it has been sitting in that box for ten years waiting." Her voice softened slightly.
"She did everything right.
She just needed you to be ready."
I thought of Amelia at twelve years old, sick and frightened and absolutely determined.
Sewing a USB drive into a blue crocheted bunny with hands that were already starting to shake.
*Don't let anyone take the box.*
"Thank you," I said.
"For believing it was worth pursuing."
"It was worth pursuing," Carla said simply.
"I'll keep you updated at every stage."
I set the phone down on the table.
Aiden appeared in the doorway.
He'd heard enough from my side to understand.
"It's moving," he said.
"Yes."
He came and sat across from me.
He looked tired in a way that had nothing to do with the last two nights.
A two-year-old weight, maybe.
Maybe longer.
"I owe you an apology," he said.
"A real one.
Not an explanation."
"Aiden—"
"I knew who you were for four months before I said anything.
I told myself I was protecting you.
I told myself the timing was never right." He looked at the table.
"The truth is I was afraid that if I told you, I'd lose you.
And I wanted to keep you." He looked up.
"That was selfish.
You deserved to know from the beginning."
I looked at him for a long moment.
"Yes," I said.
"I did."
"I'm sorry."
"I know." I reached across the table and put my hand over his.
"We're going to have to talk about it properly.
Not today.
But properly."
He turned his hand over and held mine.
"Whenever you're ready," he said.
Ruth appeared in the doorway with two mugs of tea, looked at us, set them quietly on the counter, and left without a word.
May you like
Outside the window, the morning was ordinary and pale and entirely unremarkable.
It was the most peaceful I had felt in ten years.
