Page 47 of Cause of Action

“Because Gregory has a lot of charges on his credit card from that club. He visits two nights a week.”

“A lot of people go to sex clubs. It doesn’t mean they’re murderers.”

Suddenly, I froze when I heard a boisterous laugh from behind.

“I told you I’m not playing around,” the man said.

That voice. That laugh. My head started spinning as I slowly turned and stared at the older man standing beside an officer’s desk. Six feet three, heavier set, with a bald spot that grew in size over the years.

“Morgan, are you okay?”

“That man over there. Who is he?” I asked.

“FBI Agent Colin Weathers. Why?”

“Oh. I thought he was someone else. My bad.” I smiled. “Thank you for your time. I have to go.” I stood up and walked out of the police station.

My heart raced as I waited for my Uber to arrive. When I reached the hotel, I pulled out my phone and called my Uncle Louie.

“Morgan, darling. How are you?”

“I’m okay, Uncle Louie. I saw him.”

“Saw who?”

“The FBI agent that murdered my father.”

“What? How? Where?”

“I was at the police station talking to one of the detectives who worked the case I’m investigating. His laugh, his voice. It was him.”

“Did you get his name?”

“FBI Agent Colin Weathers.”

“I’ll do some digging. Until then, stay away from him, and whatever you do, don’t let him know who you are. He’s a dangerous man, Morgan.”

“And I’m more dangerous. Let me know what you find.” I ended the call.

I paced around the room, gripping my head, trying to stop his voice in my head. But all I heard was his laughafter my father begged for his life and the words, “I told you that I’m not playing around,” before he pulled the trigger.

The knock at the door startled me and brought me back to the present. Walking over, I opened it and saw Roman standing there with a smile, which quickly dissipated when he saw me.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, stepping inside.

“Nothing.” I turned and headed toward the bedroom.

“Bullshit, Morgan. You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What happened?”

“I went to the police station earlier to see Detective Lambert. That’s when I heard it.”

“Heard what?” His brows furrowed.

“A voice, a laugh. It was him, Roman. The man who murdered my father.”

“Are you one hundred percent sure?”

“Yes. That voice has been embedded into my memory for the last fourteen years.”

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