Chapter 13
I listened to my father’s recordings.
All of them.
Finally.
Silas had been right about one thing.
There were secrets worth fearing.
My father admitted he knew about Cassian’s corruption months before Anthony died.
He delayed acting.
Why?
Because Cassian was almost another son to him.
That delay gave the problem room to grow.
I heard shame in his voice.
Then:
“Dorian will be harder than me.”
A pause.
“Good.”
I almost smiled.
He described Silas too.
“Silas thinks tradition is a vault. He forgets some things deserve to be left outside.”
Accurate.
Then Anthony Vaughn.
My father respected him more than I knew.
Called him reckless.
Proud.
Dangerous.
Also brave enough to expose Cassian even though it might not save him.
One recording ended with:
“If Anthony reaches Dorian, Cassian is finished.”
He never reached me.
Bellmore Road made sure.
I sat alone for a long time.
Then the final recording.
My father’s voice weaker.
“If someone ever tries to steal these tapes, don’t protect my reputation with them.”
Interesting.
“Use what is useful. Destroy what only keeps old men important.”
That sentence became instruction.
Not law.
Choice.
I kept recordings relevant to living disputes.
Destroyed petty grudges.
Old insults.
Private judgments that would only poison grandchildren.
Silas had risked everything to control history.
My father had already given me permission to let parts of it die.
That irony almost felt cruel.
I did not destroy Anthony’s recording.
Scarlett deserved to hear it.
Not to absolve herself.
To finally know her father died trying to expose the man she later trusted.
I sent her one copy.
Nothing else.
May you like
No note.
Truth did not need romance attached.
