The doorbell rang at 11:47 PM, cutting through the frigid February night. A knot of dread settled in my chest. Late-night visits rarely bring good news.
Through the peephole, I saw my sister Rachel, tear-streaked and nervous, and a man I didn’t recognize holding a heavy folder. “Melissa,” Rachel said, trembling, “this is Detective Morrison from the state police.”
Danny. My brother. Missing for three weeks. My heart sank.
“Is he alive?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“Ma’am,” the detective said quietly, “we located your brother’s body today. I’m very sorry for your loss.”
My world tilted. Rachel guided me to the couch. Danny, always warm and full of life, gone.
“Exposure,” the detective explained, “but there are circumstances we need to discuss.”
He laid photographs on the table. “He was found near a hunting cabin owned by Marcus Webb.”
My chest tightened. Marcus. Danny’s former business partner, torn apart by greed and betrayal.
“At the courthouse six months ago,” I whispered, remembering the trial where Danny had sued Marcus for nearly $200,000. Marcus had lost but swore, “You’ve ruined my life. And I’ll never forget it.”