The easiest thing would have been to answer anger with anger. I did not. In the mansion security office, the details kept pulling me back to the same lesson: I could not protect anyone by pretending a frightening possibility was already a fact. I discover the image was edited from a security recording. I checked what I knew against what I had written, and where the record ended, I said so. It was an uncomfortable discipline, especially with Luca’s life and my own livelihood tangled together.
“Tell me what you know,” Luca said. “Only what I can prove,” I answered. His answer never made the situation simple. We had to decide whether to trust a document, a witness, or a memory, and sometimes the honest response was to wait for corroboration. I thought about how Vanessa had controlled the room by speaking first and loudly. I had nearly allowed her certainty to become mine. Instead I asked another question, listened carefully, and refused to let embarrassment decide what happened next.
Outside, ordinary people continued their ordinary lives. A bus passed, somebody laughed at a joke, and a phone rang behind a closed door. The contrast felt cruel at first. Then it steadied me. There was a world beyond this crisis, and whatever came next would have to leave room for it. I had spent years learning how to remain useful when I was afraid. That did not make me fearless. It gave me something practical to do with fear.
Mateo whispers that the original footage is hidden in the boathouse.
