Laura took a deep breath, looking out the window where Charlotte’s traffic flowed endlessly. She explained, her voice low but clear, like reporting a case.
“We cannot issue an arrest warrant yet, David. Lack of direct evidence. The victim, the 15-year-old girl, has withdrawn her statement. At first, she detailed everything with messages, screenshots, but then the family refused to cooperate. They said the girl made it up, and all the data from Matthew’s phone, school camera, was lost right when the incident happened, as if someone erased the traces.”
I stiffened, my heart racing. “Traces erased. How is that possible? That is evidence.” She nodded, her eyes darkening.
“Not just that. Matthew did not just use money. He relied on the Bennett family reputation, and Richard, your father, quietly intervened. He had someone talk to a few department heads to stabilize the situation. A scholarship support was sent to the victim’s family through an intermediary, a few thousand, enough for them to withdraw the complaint and stay silent. The file was then suspended due to lack of evidence. We do not have anything concrete to charge him with.”
Her words cut like a knife. My father, Richard Bennett, the man I had once admired, hospital director with influence spreading throughout Charlotte.
He had the power to make everything disappear with one call of favor, a charity donation. I remember the times he resolved family troubles. A traffic ticket vanished. A small lawsuit quashed.
But now child abuse. “My father… he knows,” I whispered, my voice breaking. Laura nodded.
“I suspect so. And Matthew is still contacting some witnesses, bribing teachers, other students to keep secrets. There are rumors at the school, but no one dares speak. Your family, they are good at covering up.”
I fell silent, looking down at my cold coffee. The truth hit like a wave drowning me. My father, who always taught me about medical ethics, about saving people, now using his power to protect wrongdoing.
Matthew, my brother, whom I once thought harmless, now a monster.
Phân cảnh 12: Tracking Matthew
But the disgust in me grew not just for Matthew, but for the way the family covered it up. We were the Bennett’s prestigious. But was that prestige built on lies?
I thought about my mother Margaret with her charity fund helping poor children. But now what did she know? Or was she silent too?
The coffee shop atmosphere suddenly felt stifling. Soft jazz music played from the speakers, but to me it was like the whisper of demons.
Laura looked at me, her eyes full of worry. “David, do not do anything reckless. Let me investigate.”
But from that moment, a determination formed within me to find the evidence myself, even if it meant confronting my own blood.
I could not sit idle, waiting for the slow system. Sophie was here, and if Matthew had touched her, no, I would not let him get away.
We sat a little longer, talking about Sophie, how she was gradually opening up more as I spent time with her.
Laura talked about her work, about other cases that exhausted her, but beneath the surface, the tension remained.
As we left the shop, she hugged me tighter than usual. She promised me, “Do not do anything stupid.” I nodded, but in my heart, I had already decided.
I left the coffee shop with a muddled mind, driving home through the gray afternoon in Charlotte.
Rain began to drizzle, the drops pattering against the windshield like drum beats urging my heart.
That determination burned fiercely, but I knew I could not be reckless. I was a doctor, not a detective. One small mistake could make everything collapse.
Matthew discovering, my parents intervening, and justice forever buried. I needed to plan, needed patience, even though every second of waiting felt like torture.
At home, Sophie was sitting at the dining table, drawing, her face lighting up when she saw me.
“Daddy is home.” She drew our house with Uncle Matthew, too. My heart tightened when I looked at the drawing, the figure of Matthew standing next to Sophie holding a ball.
I hugged her tightly, trying to hide the pain. “It is beautiful, my love, but today, let us not mention Uncle.” She nodded innocently, unaware of anything.
In the following days, I began discreetly monitoring Matthew’s routines. I was not an expert, but experience from complex surgeries taught me patience and detailed observation.
Every morning I drove past the high school where he taught literature, parking on a distant corner street, observing through sunglasses.
Matthew always arrived early, smiling friendly at colleagues, carrying an old briefcase.
Phân cảnh 13: Searching the house
After school, he often stayed behind, organizing reading clubs for students. Those girl students with admiring smiles.
I noted his schedule. Monday to Friday, teaching from 800 a.m. to 300 p.m., sometimes late meetings.
On weekends, he attended school events or went for coffee alone. I followed from afar, my heart pounding each time he looked around as if sensing my gaze.
Once he called. “Bro, why have we not met lately? How is Sophie?” I replied casually. “Just busy, little bro. Sophie is fine.” But my hand gripped the phone tightly, disgust surging.
I also tracked his movements from his suburban home to the school through Charlotte’s familiar streets.
Matthew’s house was a gift from our parents, a small wooden home on the outskirts, quiet with a garden full of trees in the back.
I remembered my mother once giving me a spare key. “Keep it in case Matthew forgets.” Now that key was in my pocket like a secret weapon.
I planned meticulously. No rushing to break in, only when sure he was away for long. Every night I lay awake, my mind sketching scenarios.
What if I got caught? What would I say if I found evidence? What would I do? The anticipation kept me sleepless, but the determination grew stronger.
Sophie was the motivation. She was gradually happier, laughing more as I spent time with her, but Matthew’s shadow still lingered.
And then the opportunity came. One Friday evening, I checked the school schedule on the website. There was an outdoor event, a literature festival, with Matthew as the main speaker.
I called to confirm with him, pretending to check in. “You busy? I was thinking of dropping by.” He laughed over the phone.
“I am at the school event until late. Getting home really late, bro. See you tomorrow.” My heart pounded. This was it.
I waited until 8:45 p.m., when Sophie was sound asleep under the care of the trustworthy neighbor.
I put on a black coat, a baseball cap, and drove to the outskirts. The road was pitch black, with only headlights sweeping through rows of oak trees.
My heart beat like a drum, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. “What am I doing, David?” I asked myself.
But the image of Sophie locking her bedroom door pushed me forward. I parked a block away from Matthew’s house, walking the rest of the way.
The house was dark. No lights, no car. He was gone. My hands trembled, inserting the spare key into the lock.
The door opened with a soft creek, and I stepped in, closing it behind me. The house air was familiar, scent of old books, coffee, and a bit of mustustiness.
I turned on my phone flashlight, avoiding the main lights to not alert neighbors.
Phân cảnh 14: Hidden evidence
Heart pounding, I went straight to the study where Matthew graded papers, with a large wooden desk and desktop computer.
I sat in the chair, my hand touching the keyboard, feeling like I was committing a crime. But no, I was seeking justice.
The computer was not password protected. Matthew was always so carefree. I opened folders, searching for hidden files.
My hands scrolled quickly, heart racing, when I found a deeply buried folder named notes. Opening it, and the world collapsed.
Dozens of photos of students at school, girl students laughing in uniforms, taken secretly from afar.
Then worse, photos of Sophie in our backyard, her swinging skirt fluttering in the wind. Timestamped a few months ago when I was busy with surgery.
My heart stopped, blood rushing to my head. “No, it cannot be,” I whispered, my hand trembling as I scrolled.
Those photos were not accidental. Close angles, like stalking. I copied everything to the USB I brought. Disgust surging.
Then I saw the digital camera on the desk. My hand pulled out the memory card, inserting it into my laptop. Quick check.
Series of photos, and then photos with the same girl multiple times. A girl about 15 years old. Brown hair, shy smile, timestamps matching the date Laura mentioned, the day the victim accused of abuse.
Photos at school, in the park, and worse, in private places. I shut down the machine, hands shaking so much I nearly dropped it.
This was evidence, vivid, undeniable. Not stopping, I opened the desk drawer. Inside was a mess of papers, and then a black covered notebook at the bottom.
I flipped it open, and my heart sank into the abyss. A list of female students’ names, ages, dismissal times, frequent locations, parked near school, coffee shop, even home addresses.
Next to them were personal notes. Easy to approach likes. Storytelling needs more following. Sophie’s name was there. Niece close. Easy to hug.
I froze, unable to believe what was before me. Emotions of horror and guilt mixed. Horror that my brother was a monster. Guilt that I had let Sophie near him.
I wanted to leave, run from this place, but needed to confirm one last time. This was not the Matthew I knew. Or had I never truly known him?
I photographed the notebook with my phone, copied more files from the computer. I had gathered enough of what I needed.
Photos, memory card, notes. Heart racing fast, sweat pouring. I shut down the computer, put everything back as it was.
Notebook in the drawer, camera in place, folders closed, no traces. I did not want Matthew to suspect before Laura acted.
I stood up, legs weak, stepping out of the study. The hallway was pitch dark, only moonlight filtering through the window.
I held my breath, listening. Absolute silence. But then, as I took a few steps, a faint sound came from the floor at the end of the hallway.
Something scraping or a groan. My heart pounded. I stopped, ears perked.
The sound repeated, faint, mixed with very soft sobbing like a child trying to suppress cries. The hairs on my neck stood up.
It was not an illusion. I approached closer, holding my breath to listen, feet stepping lightly like a cat.
Phân cảnh 15: The basement discovery
At the end of the hallway was a secluded corner, old wooden floor. I knelt down, ear to the floor. The crying was clearer, choked, desperate.
There was space below, and I saw small scratches on the wooden floor as if it had been frequently pulled open.
What was this? A secret door? My hands trembled, flipping the floor rug, an old rug covering it. And then the secret basement door appeared.
Wooden lid with a loose lock. My heart felt like it would burst.
I opened the lid, the hinge creaking softly, and the choked sobbing echoed from the darkness below, confirming my worst fear: someone was down there.
I shown my phone flashlight down. Steep wooden stairs led into the damp darkness. I took a deep breath, descending step by step, legs trembling.
The smell of mustustiness mixed with fear, sweat, and tears. The flashlight swept across old wooden crates.
A tripod camera set up in the corner. Tangled wires, stacked folding chairs. What was this? A torture room.