Page 3 of A Smile Full of Lies
“I inherited fifteen million dollars and a thriving cybersecurity company when my family was murdered.” My voice was even, dripping with finality. “I’ve more than doubled my inheritance in the years since. Do I sound like I need your haunted house chump change? Let me give you a hint, since you’re obviously in over your head, here. Even if I didn’t have a dime to my name, I wouldn’t consider profiting off my family’s spilled blood.”
Josh went quiet. I let that silence drag before I spoke again.
“The only thing you’d be selling,” I said, “is a fantasy built on my trauma. You want guests to scream? Tell them how long my sister tried to run before her killer caught her. You want mood lighting? Try black lights over blood that won’t come out of the goddamn hardwood floor.”
“Mr. Knox?—”
“No.”
“I — I understand,” he stammered, finally sounding shaken. “Of course. I’m sorry. I was just following up on a lead. We heard you’d been seen around town more lately, so I figured maybe you were ready to, I don’t know… re-engage with the public.”
My jaw flexed. So that’s what this was. They’d seen me at places like the grocery store, the pharmacy, and the hardware store. They’d noticed the reclusive fuck who barely left his house unless dragged suddenly making regular appearances around town in Stonewood.
What they didn’t know was why.
Ros hadn’t left her house since her grandmother’s funeral three weeks ago. Not once. Not even to check the mail.
I’d been the one running around like a ghost in broad daylight, picking up everything she needed and everything she wouldn’t ask for. I’d let myself in with the spare key she gave me and unpacked groceries on her kitchen counter like I was just being neighborly. I pretended I wasn’t watching her through the blinds to make sure she ate. It took everything I had in me to act like I wasn’t three seconds from losing my shit every time I saw her, and she looked more weary and brittle than she did the day before.
And this asshole somehow thought that meant I was ready to hand over the keys to my family’s murder scene.
“I wasn’t re-engaging,” I snapped. It had nothing to do with re-engaging. “I was making sure someone I care about didn’t fucking starve.”
My reappearance out and about in Stonewood had everything to do with her.
Josh went quiet. Then, with oily sympathy smeared across his voice, he murmured, “Of course. Of course. I’m — uh — I’m really sorry to hear that. About your friend. Or family. Or whoever they are. That must be really hard. I didn’t mean to imply?—”
“You didn’t imply anything,” I growled. “You said it outright. You saw a man crawling out of his shell and thought you could slap a fucking price tag on it.”
Josh laughed nervously, a thin, jittery sound.
“Okay, okay — I get it. Bad timing, bad optics. I’m just the guy they send to make the call and pitch the idea. It wasn’t meant to be personal.”
“It’salwayspersonal when it’s my family’s murder you’re trying to monetize.”
Another beat of silence stretched between us. Then he tried again, clinging to his script like it might save him.
“Look, I totally understand why this feels raw. I do. But sometimes, you know, the right event — handled carefully — can help people process and heal. It can even help people honor what was lost. This could be?—”
“Stop talking.”
Josh did. His voice went dead quiet.
“You called me with a pitch for a haunted house. You wanted access to a crime scene you thought my feelings might havedulled about over the last four years. You thought enough money would soften the rough edges of your pitch.”
“I didn’t mean to offend?—”
“You did. Congratulations.”
I moved to end the call, but he scrambled to get in one last word.
“Look, I get it. I do. But just in case —just in case— you ever change your mind…”
My jaw clenched. What possessed me to let this stupid son of a bitch keep talking for this long? I think part of me wanted him to grasp just how far over the line his pitch was, but nothing I said was permeating the fog, apparently.
“I’ll leave my number,” he finished. “October’s a big month for us. If you reconsider, I’ll make sure you get a top-tier package. We’d give you full creative control and the final say over everything. We could even donate part of the proceeds to a memorial fund?—”
“I’m going to say this slowly,” I interrupted. “So it sinks in.”
