he had hidden—documents, records, proof.

And then a video.

My father appeared on the screen. Pale. Thin. But steady.

“You didn’t do it, Eli,” he said.

Linda and her son had framed me. Stolen money. Planted evidence. Used my access.

My father had been sick. Watched. Afraid.

So he collected everything. Quietly.

And left it for me.

I didn’t confront them. I went continue reading …