He repeatedly asked only one question.
“Can someone please call my daughter?”
Meanwhile…
Vanessa stood inside the doorway.
Not frightened.
Not shaking.
She was pacing around the living room.
Every few moments she looked toward the staircase.
Almost as though she was waiting for something.
Then Ethan finally came downstairs.
Fully dressed.
Perfectly calm.
Almost too calm.
I froze the frame.
Something behind the sofa caught my attention.
A wooden baseball bat.
Perfectly clean.
No blood.
No damage.
Odd.
Very odd.
Later that afternoon I visited the house with detectives.
A forensic team photographed everything.
One investigator carefully examined the bat.
“There aren’t any fingerprints except Vanessa’s.”
I looked at him.
“None from my father?”
He slowly shook his head.
“None.”
The truth became clearer hour by hour.
My father had refused to sign new estate documents earlier that week.
Documents transferring control of nearly everything to Ethan.
The family home.
Retirement savings.
