Vivian whipped toward him. “Don’t say a word.”
Too late.
A detective stepped forward. “Mrs. Hale, Mr. Ortega already gave a statement.”
Her mask finally cracked.
“You have no idea what I endured in this family,” she spat bitterly. “Richard treated me like decoration. His dead wife haunted every room in this house. I deserved security.”
My father closed his eyes in pain.
I stepped closer. “Security does not mean abusing a sick man. Security does not mean forcing him to crawl.”
Vivian stared at me with raw hatred. “You think you’re better than me?”
“No,” I answered. “I think I came prepared.”
I handed the detective a flash drive.
