Page 72 of Saving it with My Best Friend's Brother

His voice broke on Amelia’s mother’s name, raw with years of carrying guilt.

“Dad?” Amelia’s fingers tightened around mine.

“I’m so sorry, princess.” Moonlight caught tears in Arthur’s eyes. “We thought we were protecting you. All of you. But secrets...” He swallowed hard, the sound echoing. “They poison everything they touch.”

“Then let’s end them.” I pulled Amelia closer as the cabin creaked beneath us, old wood and memories surrounding us like ghosts. “Right here. Right now.”

Rachel’s hand moved toward her jacket. Agent Blake’s weapon settled with a soft click.

“Careful, Mrs. Wheeler.” Years of authority steadied her warning. “No more violence.”

“Violence?” Rachel’s hollow laugh bounced off the cabin walls. “I’m here to show them this.”

The manila envelope she withdrew looked aged as the hands that held it, crackling in the night air like dead leaves.

“Here’s what your mothers found.” Grief thickened her voice. “What got my brother killed. What’s really buried under the old ski slopes.”

Photos spilled across dusty floorboards. Construction plans. Property deeds. And others—chemical analysis reports, their official stamps faded but legible in our beams.

“Uranium.” The word fell from Mom’s lips, heavy with knowledge and regret. “Crystal Ridge knew about the deposits when they started buying properties. They’ve been planning this for decades.”

“A mining operation?” Amelia’s grip tightened her mother’s bracelet cold between our palms. “All of this... for mining rights?”

“Worth billions,” Arthur confirmed, moonlight harsh on grief-carved features. “Your mother discovered their plans. Started gathering evidence. Asked Kate for help...”

“And my brother agreed to testify.” Rachel’s words cut like broken glass. “Until they silenced him.”

“Who?” The demand scraped from my throat. “Who killed him?”

A new figure filled the doorway, familiar and devastating. Hospital antiseptic carried on the night wind as he stepped into our light.

“I did.”

Michael stood there, shoulder bandaged against the dark jacket, face pale as moonlight.

And in his hand, a detonator pulsed red like a dying heart.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, breath visible in mountain cold. “But some secrets have to stay buried.”

The cabin’s timbers groaned like souls in pain as midnight crept closer.

And somewhere in the darkness, a timer counted down, each second falling like snow.

“Michael, you were just a kid.” Amelia’s voice carried echoes of shared childhood secrets. “You couldn’t have—“

“I was old enough.” The detonator trembled in his grip, casting shadow demons across his haunted features. “Old enough to follow Mom that night. Old enough to see Thomas Spencer meet Crystal Ridge’s men. Old enough to panic when he pulled a gun...”

Mom stepped forward. Michael flinched like a wounded animal. “Thomas was trying to protect us.”

“He was blackmailing them.” Truth spilled from Michael like blood from a wound, years of guilt making him look young and lost. “Thomas demanded more money, threatening to expose everything if they didn’t pay.”

His breath misted in cold air. “When they refused, he pulled a gun. Aimed it at Morrison’s chest.” Trembling hands demonstrated, the detonator wavering dangerously. “I was behind Thomas. I couldn’t watch him shoot. I grabbed his arm, trying to force the gun away.”

The cabin held its breath, dust dancing in our beams. “We struggled, both gripping the weapon. In the scuffle, it twistedtoward Thomas. His finger was still on the trigger when—“ His swallow echoed in waiting silence. “When it went off. Thomas... Thomas shot himself.”

“And everyone assumed Crystal Ridge killed him.” Grief cracked Rachel’s perfect mask. “My brother...”

“Put down the detonator, Michael.” Agent Blake’s gentleness didn’t soften her aim. “It’s over.”

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