Page 97 of Liam
What the hell is going on?
“That’s right,” Elias says, his voice dripping with malice. “Your daddy dearest killed my father. And now, I’m here to return the favor.”
Arlo’s voice—or Elias’s as it appears—crackles through the speaker, cold and precise. “Remember that little robbery attempt on you, Cora?” He chuckles, the sound devoid of warmth. “That was my doing. The guy I hired was supposed to finish the job, but he was a coward.”
Cora’s fingers tighten around her phone, her knuckles turning white. She sways slightly, and Ryder steadies her with a hand on her back, his face a picture of rage.
“I was supposed to walk away clean, pretend I was never even there. You know, for the alibi,” Elias says, his voicetinged with frustration. “But no, you survived, and not only that—you broke up with me and shut off my access to the family.”
A strangled sound escapes Cora’s throat. Her free hand flies to her mouth, eyes wide with horror as the full implications of his words sink in.
“You... You were going to...” she stammers, unable to finish the thought.
“Kill you?” Elias finishes for her, his tone matter-of-fact. “That was the plan. Just like I planned to kill Lucas on that bike ride. Using proxies was a mistake. Some things,” he says, lowering his voice, “you need to do yourself.”
Lucas stumbles backward, his face ashen.
“Oh, and Logan,” Elias’s voice takes on a mocking lilt, “you were actually first on my list. But then I found out you were adopted, so I decided to let you live. After all, you’re not really a Valeur, are you?”
Logan’s eyes widen, unfocused. His mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out.
The room seems to shrink around us, the air growing thick and heavy. Cora’s breath comes in short, sharp gasps. Lucas leans over the table, looking like he might be sick. Logan stands frozen, his face a mask of shock and disbelief.
I watch as the Valeur family crumbles before my eyes, their world shattering with each revelation.
All I can do is stand here, an outsider witnessing the implosion of a family I thought I knew.
“You're sick,” Cora whispers, her voice trembling.
“No,” Elias snaps, his calm voice cracking. “What's sick is watching your father die and being powerless to stop it.What's sick is growing up knowing the man who killed him walks free, living in luxury while you have nothing!”
Elias’s voice changes, small and vulnerable. “I was five years old.”
The shift in tone has us all leaning in, despite ourselves.
“I saw everything. Your father, Peter Valeur, murdered my dad in cold blood in front of me.”
Peter’s face contorts, the confusion giving way to a slow, dawning horror. His hands tremble as they grip the arms of his chair, his knuckles white. “There was no child there that night. What...what are you talking about?” Peter demands, his voice cracking, disbelief thick in every word.
“I was there!” Elias screams. “I was just a little boy, but I swore that day that I would make the Valeurs pay. And now, here we are. Your day has arrived.”
Peter’s head shakes, his breath coming in short, stilted bursts. “I… I didn’t know. There was no child. I saw no one.” His voice lowers to a whisper as if speaking any louder might break him. “I would never have?—”
Elias interrupts, laying out his demands again, each word precise and cutting. “…all of the Valeur wealth, donated to charities of my choosing. And Peter Valeur must die. On camera, confessing every sin, every crime he’s committed.”
Cora lets out a choked sob.
“The whole world will know the truth before he takes his last breath,” Elias says. “Only then will Liam be released.”
“You won’t get away with this,” Logan growls through clenched teeth.
“But I already have,” Elias says. “You see, alive or dead, your father’s going down. And I get to watch this family destroyitself either way. If he lives, Liam dies, and you spend the rest of your lives knowing you could have saved him. If he dies...” Eliastsks. “Well, that guilt’s a different kind of poison, isn’t it?”
The silence that follows is deafening. Peter Valeur stands rigid, his face a mask of anguish as he looks at his children.
“Tick tock,” Elias sing-songs. “What’s it going to be, Peter? Your life, or your son’s?”
A commotion erupts from the phone’s speaker. Fabric rustles, followed by the scrape of a chair against the floor.
