My wife and my brother were the two people who had held me up when I could barely stand. They had arranged the service, stood at my side in the chapel, held my arm at the burial. They had been in our home every day since, telling me I wasn’t alone.
“Chloe,” I said carefully, “they’ve been taking care of everything. They planned the service. They’ve been here with me. They loved you.”
“They planned everything,” she whispered. “Just not the way you think.”
The words chilled me.
“They told me you were gone,” I said slowly. “They said you never made it out of the house. They said…”
My throat closed around the rest.
Chloe’s eyes filled.
“They stopped me after school,” she said, words rushing out in a hurried tangle. “Some men. They put me in a van. They took me to a small house near the woods not far from Uncle Colby’s place by the lake.”
She swallowed hard.
“I heard them talking. I heard your name. They said you would never give up the company, that you worked too hard, that you’d rather run it into the ground than let anyone else lead.”
“They talked about you like you were a problem, Dad. And they talked about me like I was just… another detail.”
My stomach turned, but I kept my voice as steady as I could.
“What about the fire?” I asked quietly. “The house they said you were in?”
