The Price of Truth

The air in Elias Thorne’s cramped apartment was thick with the scent of stale cigarette smoke and something vaguely metallic, like old coins. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight that managed to pierce the grimy windowpane, illuminating the weary lines etched around Thorne’s eyes. He sat hunched in a worn armchair, his gaze fixed on Henry, who stood before him, the weight of unspoken questions pressing down. The confession Thorne had offered in the previous chapter had been a tremor, a seismic shift that had cracked the foundation of Henry’s understanding, but the full earthquake was yet to come.

“She hired them,” Thorne began, his voice a low rasp, like dry leaves skittering across pavement. “Dubois. Seraphina Dubois. They were partners, you see. Or, rather, your parents were Dubois’s unwitting financiers. They stumbled onto something… something ugly. Something that could have ruined her. Ruined everything she’d built.”

Henry’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. He’d suspected a business entanglement, a financial dispute, but this… this was a calculated act of murder. “What exactly did they uncover?” he managed, his voice tight.