The cameras show only one person entering that home."
David's chair scraped back.
"This is circumstantial.
None of this proves—"
"Mr.
Sloan also left a recording," Mr.
Higgins said.
He reached into the folder and placed a small digital recorder on the desk.
"He recorded every interaction he had with you for the last six months of his life."
David froze.
Mr.
Higgins pressed play.
Mr.
Sloan's voice filled the room.
Thin.
Tired.
But steady.
*"David, I know what you've been doing.
I know about the complaints.
I know about the medication.
I know you've been waiting for me to die."*
Then David's voice.
Clear.
Unmistakable.
*"You should have sold when I offered, old man.
Now you're going to d*e in that house, and your property is going to end up in probate anyway.
At least this way, Linda gets something out of it."*
