The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor echoed softly in the room, the only sign that Emma Adams was still holding on. Pale and unmoving, she lay surrounded by tubes, machines, and the sterile scent of antiseptic. Her father, Morris Adams, sat beside her, gripping her hand like a man grasping the edge of a cliff.
He hadn't slept. The grief in his eyes was a storm of rage and regret.
A soft knock on the glass door broke the silence. Detective Maira stepped in, followed by Officer Rao, both of them somber.
Morris looked up with bloodshot eyes. "Any news?"
Maira spoke gently, "We're sorry to disturb you, Mr. Adams… but we need to talk."
Morris stood slowly. "If this is about Grayson, I already heard. Dead. Hung like a criminal. And now I've lost my only damn witness."
Maira nodded. "And that's exactly why we're here. We believe his death was not a suicide. It was silencing. And we believe your nephew, Alex Adams, is responsible."
