Mark’s eyes flared with rage, his entire demeanor shifting from panic to threat. “You think you can just waltz in here and play detective? You think you can nail me based on some stupid recording?” he hissed, advancing slowly.
“You’d be surprised what a ‘stupid recording’ can do,” I replied, my voice steady, though my heart was pounding in my chest. “Especially when it captures your voice, Mark. When it captures Sarah pleading with you to stop.”
He halted, his face twisted with fury, then forced a smile—a grotesque, mocking grin. “Even if you have something, who’s going to believe you? You’re just a grieving mother looking for someone to blame.”
