CHAPTER 6 – The Last Recording
Ethan was forced onto his knees.
His wrists were locked in steel handcuffs.
Margaret screamed.
"He's innocent!"
No one listened.
Richard adjusted his expensive suit and accepted a glass of water from one of the detectives as though he were the victim.
"Take him away," Richard said casually.
"And make sure he never speaks again."
Two officers grabbed Ethan.
As they dragged him toward the door, he shouted with everything he had left.
"Margaret!"
"The tape!"
"Play the tape!"
One detective struck him across the face.
"Shut him up."
The apartment fell silent.
Richard slowly turned toward Margaret.
"I'll make this simple."
"Give me the cassette."
"I don't know what's on it."
"You don't need to."
He smiled.
"You only need to hand it over."
Margaret looked at the old tape lying beside her husband's notebook.
For a brief second, she remembered something he had told her many years ago.
"If anyone ever asks about my old recordings... never let them hear the last one."
Without thinking, Margaret grabbed the cassette.
Richard's smile disappeared.
"Stop her!"
She rushed toward the antique radio player that had been sitting untouched on a nearby shelf for years.
An officer lunged.
Too late.
Click.
The cassette slid inside.
A loud hiss filled the room.
Then...
Her husband's voice.
Older.
Calm.
Steady.
"If you're hearing this..."
"It means I didn't survive."
Every person in the apartment froze.
Richard's face turned pale for the first time.
"My name is Thomas Dawson."
"For the last eight years, I secretly documented every illegal transaction ordered by Richard Hale."
"I copied every file."
"Every payment."
"Every murder."
"And I hid the original evidence somewhere no one would ever think to search."
Richard shouted,
"Turn it off!"
No one moved.
The recording continued.
"If Richard Hale is standing in this room..."
"He already knows he has lost."
Margaret watched Richard's confident expression collapse into pure panic.
Then came the final sentence.
"The real evidence isn't in this apartment."
"It's already been delivered..."
"...to someone Richard Hale trusts more than anyone else."
Silence.
Richard's eyes widened.
He whispered one name under his breath.
Impossible...
"No..."
"It can't be..."
Before anyone could ask who he meant—
The detective beside Richard slowly drew his service pistol...
And pointed it directly...
At Richard Hale.
"He's right."
"I've had the evidence for three years."
Richard stared at him in horror.
"You?"
The detective smiled.
"No, Richard."
"You should be asking yourself..."
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"Who have I really been working for all these years?"
To Be Continued...
