The Screens Go Dark, Then Bright
The lights dimmed. On three towering screens, the first ledger page appeared: names, loan amounts, 40–60% interest, penalty schedules. A collective gasp rippled through the room.
Click — Hawkins’s tea kettle, cross-referenced with her margin note: “Handled.” His broken sob cut through the murmurs.
Click — payments logged beside officials’ initials. Faces turned pale as recognizable names appeared.
Click — a photo: a young Catherine smiling up at my father. The motive snapped into focus — not protection of her son, but decades of obsession and revenge.
