Chapter 4 - The Sins of the SonThe muffled laughter from the patio felt like a distant, mocking echo from another world. Inside the dining room, the air was thick with the scent of spilled wine, shattered porcelain, and profound, irreversible betrayal.
Travis slumped against the doorframe, his hands trembling violently as he covered his face. The polished facade of the successful real estate developer dissolved into the pathetic whimper of a terrified boy.
"I didn't know," Travis choked out, his voice muffled by his palms. "Not all of it. Not at first."
"You helped him bury a car, Travis!" Rebecca shouted, keeping her knee firmly planted between Gerald's shoulder blades to keep the old man pinned to the floor. "Don't talk to me about ignorance! What car? Whose car?"
Gerald let out a harsh, wet laugh from the carpet, blood smearing across his cheek. "Tell her, boy," Gerald taunted, his voice dripping with venom. "Tell your high-and-mighty sister about the lovely little midnight drive we took fifteen years ago. Tell her whose license plates we melted down in the industrial furnace."
Chloe stood frozen, staring at her father as if he were a complete stranger. "Dad? What is Grandpa talking about? Who did you hurt?"
Travis looked up, his eyes bloodshot and swimming with tears. He looked at his teenage daughter, then at Rebecca, and finally down at little Lily, who was still clutching a corner of Rebecca's jacket.
"It was summer," Travis whispered, staring blankly at the floor. "I was twenty-two. I came home from college, and there was a girl— Maya, her name was Maya. She was a runaway staying in the guest cottage out back. Dad... Dad found her going through his desk."
Rebecca’s stomach churned violently. "Go on."
"She threatened to go to the police," Travis continued, his voice dropping to a haunted register. "Dad lost control. He... he hit her with the heavy brass fireplace poker. I walked in right after it happened. There was blood everywhere. I wanted to call an ambulance, I swear to God I did! But Dad... he looked at me and said, 'You’re an Hutchinson. You protect your own, or you go down right beside me.'"
Patricia closed her eyes, leaning heavily against the pantry door, her lips moving in a silent, frantic prayer.
"So we wrapped her in a tarp," Travis sobbed, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably. "We drove out to the old quarry property in Dad’s truck. We buried her deep. And Dad made me keep her silver necklace as a 'loyalty pledge.' It’s... it’s in the mahogany cabinet. In the velvet box."
Chloe let out a choked gasp, dropping her phone. It clattered loudly against the floorboards. "You... you’re a murderer. Both of you."
"We did it for the family!" Gerald roared, suddenly bucking upward with supernatural strength, throwing Rebecca off balance. He scrambled to his feet, panting heavily, wiping blood from his mouth. His eyes were wild, unhinged, and utterly terrifying. "We built this family from nothing! Fifty years of law enforcement, real estate, community service! We kept this town safe, while scum like that girl tried to tear it apart!"
"You didn't keep anyone safe, Gerald," a calm, chilling voice echoed from the kitchen entry.
Everyone turned.
Standing in the doorway, blocking the exit to the patio, was Detective Sarah Jenkins—the local police officer who also happened to be Rebecca’s closest friend from law school. She had her hand resting casually on the butt of her service weapon, her uniform crisp, and her expression carved out of stone.
"Detective Jenkins," Patricia gasped, instantly shifting into her pristine hostess persona, though her hands were shaking uncontrollably. "Thank goodness. My daughter has suffered a severe mental breakdown. She’s fabricating stories, attacking her father—"
"Save it, Patricia," Sarah interrupted, stepping into the room. She held up her department-issued radio. "I was parked down the street off-duty when the dispatch call went through. The system flagged the address before your daughter's phone was smashed. And by the way... the TikTok live-stream Chloe started five minutes ago has already been downloaded by cyber-crimes."
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Gerald stared at the detective, his chest heaving. Slowly, deliberately, his hand drifted toward the heavy silver belt buckle at his waist.
"Don't even think about it, Gerald," Sarah warned, unsnapping her holster. "Put your hands behind your back. You’re under arrest."
