“Your search for answers,” he said gently, looking directly at me, “could interfere with something bigger than you realize. It could hurt the case.”
My fingers tightened around my glass.
“When things finally come to light,” he continued, “you may get answers.”
A beat passed.
“Or you might not.” The honesty landed like a weight. “I’m asking you to be okay with either possibility,” he said softly. “Because cases like this… they can hollow you out.” His gaze drifted briefly, like he was remembering something he didn’t want to.
“I got so obsessed with putting Marcel Bellerose behind bars that I lost track of who I was. What I was doing.”
Asher frowned. “What do you mean?”
Footsteps sounded behind us. Becket appeared in the doorway, leaning casually against the arch.
“Hi,” he said, glancing around the table. “I see Dad’s updating you on what I found out.”
His eyes flicked to the note.
Pierre looked toward Sandy then. She blinked once, subtly giving him permission. The air in the kitchen shifted. Like whatever came next was going to change everything.
Becket pushed off the doorway slightly, brows pulling together. “Dad… where is this coming from?”
Pierre didn’t answer right away. His fingers rested on the edge of the table, gaze fixed somewhere beyond all of us.
Finally, he exhaled. “Do you remember the note you found in the attic?” he asked quietly. “The day before Elyna and Phoenix’s wedding.”
Becket stilled.
Asher tensed.
Becket shifted his weight. “The letter with Mom’s handwriting.”
My stomach tightened at the way the room seemed to close in. Pierre nodded slowly. His voice dropped as he repeated the words from memory.
“I can’t stay here now that I know what really happened by the river. Please understand—this isn’t goodbye forever.I know it by heart,” he said, and then he burst into tears. The sound ofhis cries was broken as Sandy stood to console him. I had only just met him, but he seemed so strong and assured this was a lot to take in.
Aching silence followed. The air felt heavier, like even breathing too loud would disturb something fragile.
Asher blinked. “Wait… that was about a case?”
Pierre’s jaw tightened. “It was about Maggie Chabot.”
The name landed with weight. From my research I assumed she was Elyna’s mom, the woman I met at the bakery. The woman married to Phoenix. Pierre leaned back slightly, rubbing at his eyes.
“I knew what happened to Maggie,” he said quietly. “There was a hit out on Kyle Jansen. Maggie was collateral damage.”
Becket swore softly under his breath.
Asher stared at his father. “You knew?”
Pierre nodded once. “I knew,” he cried. “And I didn’t arrest Marcel Bellerose.”
The words felt almost impossible coming from a man who clearly carried the shape of law enforcement in his bones.
“Why?” Asher asked, voice rough.
Pierre rubbed a hand across his face. “Because I knew the charges wouldn’t stick,” he said. “No witnesses willing to talk. No hard evidence. Just whispers and fear. If I pushed too soon, the case would collapse and he’d walk clean.”