Chapter 5: Forgiveness Denied

I filed Caleb’s retraction with the court. By law, the case went back to the cops for reinvestigation.

The detectives came to the jail to grill Caleb. I sat on his left, taking notes.

What mattered was evidence.

Caleb’s story was just words. To prove Tom ordered the hit, we needed more.

After hours of questioning, it turned out Caleb had nothing—no texts, no calls, no messages, no contract. Just a conversation in the break room. The only camera on site was on the tower crane—no help at all.

The cops and I traded looks. Caleb had been played—murder for a promise.

The cops started digging into Tom Reynolds directly.

…

Meanwhile, I chased another lead.

In murder cases, a letter of forgiveness from the victim’s family can be gold at sentencing.

So I tracked down Mark’s wife at the police guesthouse. She was a worn-out woman, eyes red, her daughter nearby doing homework, hands twisting her sweater.

After I explained, she hesitated, then burst into tears—face in her hands, shoulders shaking.

Suddenly she grabbed a glass, held it high, then smashed it on the table.

She screamed, raw and broken:

“Ahhhhhh!”

I cowered behind my briefcase, heart pounding as glass and water sprayed the floor.

But she didn’t hit me. She just crumpled, sobbing.

“My child lost her father. Now you want me to forgive the monster who did it? How are we supposed to go on? You want me to forgive the devil who killed my husband? Never!”

I had no answer. In that moment, I felt like the villain—and I hated myself for it.

But as Caleb’s lawyer, I had to try:

“I’m so sorry about Mark. But he bullied Caleb at work—if you don’t forgive, Caleb will die. He’s only twenty.”

She stood, clutching her purse to her chest, knuckles white around her daughter’s hand, voice cracking:

“I still set a place for him at dinner. I can’t forgive. He took my child’s father. Get out. Don’t come back. I’ll never write that letter.”

She reached for another glass, and I bolted—heart racing until I hit the street.