Timmy returned home dejected.
Ethan Roy heard the front door open and knew his son was back.
"Timmy, how was the party?" his father's almost jolly voice called from upstairs.
But Timmy didn't answer. He rushed into his room and began searching frantically. Finally, he found the diamond pendant in his drawer, and the last trace of light left his eyes.
"Timmy, I'm talking to you—didn't you hear me?"
Ethan's voice, laced with complaint and anger at being ignored, rang through the bedroom door.
"What's going on in there? What happened?" He stormed into the room, swearing, only to find his son sitting dazedly on the bed, clutching the diamond pendant.
"Timmy!"
Ethan strode over, snatching the pendant out of his son's hand and glaring at him in anger.
"I told you, I'd give you any money you want, but never to touch anything in the safe!"
Timmy opened his mouth, but his voice was so faint Ethan couldn't hear.
This only agitated Ethan more.
"Say something! Talk to me!"
"Hey, don't be so hard on the child!"
Just then, Ethan's wife, Diana, arrived, pulling her husband away and embracing Timmy tenderly.
"What's wrong, darling? Did someone bully you at school?" She sniffed. "My, you reek of alcohol… How much did you drink?" She gently stroked his cheek, then froze.
"Oh my, your face…!"
Diana stared at the handprint on Timmy's face, shocked and furious.
"Who slapped you?! How could people treat you like this?!"
Ethan finally noticed the red five-fingered mark on his son's cheek instead of the pendant. He frowned—but his anger was for entirely different reasons than his wife's.
"Were you in a fight?" His voice was low, accusatory. "At the party? How disgraceful!"
"Is this really the time to talk about that?!"
Diana spun around. Her beautiful eyes flashed with disbelief.
"Our son was attacked! How could you focus on that?"
"What else could matter?" Ethan shoved the necklace into his pocket and stalked the room agitatedly.
"He's a minister's son! Everything he does represents me! Do you realize what kind of impact this would have if it got out? That damned Mycroft would use this as an excuse to bring me down!"
"You—!"
"Stop arguing," Timmy finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper.
He looked up; the arrogance in his eyes was now replaced by emptiness and dread.
"The thief… the thief Moriarty…"
"Don't talk nonsense!" Ethan shouted, his scalp tingling at that name.
"Are you drunk? Even if the thief robbed me, what's it got to do with you? Why were you hit?"
"It's because… the letter… and Russell Watson…" Timmy's voice came halting, broken.
Ethan's fury mounted as he listened to his son's babbling.
But just as he was about to explode again, a thought struck like lightning.
The thief… had broken into his house.
"That damn thief broke into our home!"
He grabbed Timmy by the collar and stared into his eyes. "Tell me!"
Timmy shuddered and nodded.
Ethan's complexion paled instantly.
"Damn, damn, damn!"
He no longer cared about disciplining his son, nor even about his wife's bewildered cries. He tore out of the room like a madman.
"Ethan! Where are you going?"
Ethan didn't answer. Panic gripping his heart, he raced down to his study. With shaking hands, he dashed to his bookshelves, pulled three books in a certain order, and revealed a hidden compartment.
Empty.
The manila envelope containing all his bribery records was gone.
Ethan's mind blanked at the sight.
"No—the guest room, there's still…!"
He charged across the hall, flung open the long-unused guest room door, and ripped up the mattress.
There, under the bed, was still his tin box—kept for memories of his liaisons. Hope flickered. He opened the box.
Empty.
It was over.
Everything was over.
Ethan Roy collapsed to the carpet like a boneless mollusk. His breathing quickened, sweat soaking his expensive shirt.
He knew exactly what awaited him if these facts got out—not just loss of office and disgrace, but a cold prison cell.
No wait… there was one more safe haven—
But the moment the thought crossed his mind, he found himself unable even to move.
He angrily flung the diamond necklace from his pocket.
That wretched thief had no interest in money at all.
Ethan grabbed his head in his hands, hair yanked in desperation, trying and failing to come up with a solution.
Just then, he heard his wife's shout:
"Ethan Roy!"
The voice was angry, urgent, and—he found it extremely irritating.
Ethan didn't answer.
"Ethan Roy!!"
Diana's voice rang out again, shrill as fingernails on a chalkboard.
Irritated, Ethan looked up, ready to scold her for disturbing his last shred of peace.
But when his gaze reached the master bedroom door, his pupils shrank.
Diana stood there, holding a photograph. The angle and lighting made it impossible to see what the picture depicted, but he could guess.
What should I do?
Diana approached, her voice squeezed through gritted teeth.
"What I'm asking is, what exactly were you thinking?"
She flung the photo at his face:
"Who is this woman?!"
Ethan slowly bent down and picked up the photo at his feet.
On the back, in flamboyant flowing script, was a devilish message that shattered the last pretense surrounding his family.
A little gift for Mrs. Roy – Moriarty
"Moriarty…"
Ethan stared at the photo gripped in his trembling hand, hearing his wife's teeth grind beside him.
"Ethan Roy, my lawyer will be in touch tomorrow," Diana said, voice icy cold.
Ethan: "It's over..."