Lines of Defense

Ch. 16

AMELIA HART

I follow Irene back into the house, my mind racing as I try to piece together everything she's told me so far. The space is just as luxurious as the rest of her home—tasteful, modern décor, with plush couches and soft lighting that casts a warm glow over the room. Irene gestures for me to sit, her face tight.

"Take a seat. There's something you need to see," she says, disappearing down a hallway.

I sink into one of the soft chairs, and within seconds, a maid appears, placing a delicate porcelain cup of tea on the table in front of me. "Thank you," I mutter, though my mind is elsewhere, and she nods before retreating into what I assume is the kitchen.

A moment later, Irene returns, holding a sleek laptop. She places it on the coffee table in front of me and, without a word, opens it up. 

"I found this in Stacie's house," Irene says quietly, her fingers hovering over the touchpad as she pulls up a video. "I didn't think much of it at first, but... you need to see this."

The video loads, and the screen flickers to life. My heart stutters for a second as the scene comes into focus—Stacie and Mark, in what looks like the bedroom of the villa. The room is bright, with sunlight streaming through large windows, but the atmosphere between them is anything but warm. 

Mark stands at the foot of the bed, his posture aggressive, while Stacie faces him, her arms crossed defiantly, her expression set in cold anger.

"I've told you a hundred times, Stacie," Mark growls harshly, "just give up the right to the land. It's better for both of us."

Stacie's face hardens. "Better for us? Are you kidding me?" she spits back, "I know exactly what you plan to do with it. You think I'm blind? You think I don't know that a man as vile as you will use that land to commit more of your evil?"

Mark takes a step forward, his hands raised as if trying to calm her down, but his eyes glint with danger. "It's for us, Stacie. It's always been for us," he insists, though there's no sincerity in his voice. "If you'd just let go of your stubbornness—"

"Stubbornness?" Stacie cuts him off, taking a step back, her eyes blazing with fury. "You're a damn liar, Mark. A cheat. You've been sleeping with your mistress behind my back, you've taken almost every single property I inherited from my father and now you expect me to hand over the last bit of inheritance I have? Over my dead body."

Mark's jaw tightens, the mask slipping for a brief moment, revealing the real man underneath. He steps closer, his voice dropping into a low, menacing tone. "Stacie, I'm warning you—"

"No," she snarls, shoving him back with both hands, her body trembling. "Get the hell away from me! Go back to her if you want, but you're not getting the land!"

The video cuts out just as abruptly as it started, and the room plunges into silence. I sit there, staring at the black screen, my pulse pounding in my ears.

But what sticks with me—what sends a chill down my spine—isn't the argument itself. It's Mark. The way he looked. His outfit—dark pants, black jacket. Exactly the same clothes Jane and I saw on the CCTV footage from the day Stacie was murdered. The only difference? No baseball hat. There's no denying it now. Mark Freeman really killed Stacie.

Irene watches me carefully, gauging my reaction. "I always knew Mark was up to no good. But I never thought..." She trails off, and she presses her lips into a thin line. "I never thought he'd kill my sister."

I nod, still processing what I've just seen. "From the angle the video was taken," I say slowly, piecing it together, "it had to be the hidden camera I found in the villa. But why would Stacie or anyone set up a camera like that? It's almost like..."