I visited one Saturday with a broken kitchen timer.
Nobody asked about the camera until I mentioned the case myself.
We spent an hour discussing springs and gears instead.
When the timer finally ticked, Paul laughed so loudly that everyone turned toward him.
The sound made me realize how long the street had been defined by whispered accusations.
We were rebuilding more than trust in an association.
We were rebuilding the ability to spend time together without treating each conversation as evidence.
Chapter 65: The Quiet Before the Decision
The night before Patricia’s final hearing, I sat with Daniel in my kitchen.
He had brought a folder containing the machine shop’s latest financial report.
The numbers were better than we expected, though the company still had work to do.
We discussed a new apprenticeship program and the possibility of repairing the old loading dock.
Eventually Daniel looked toward the mantel clock.
He asked whether I thought Patricia would apologize.
I said I did not know.
He asked whether an apology would matter.
I considered the question for a long time.
An apology might matter if it was sincere and accompanied by responsibility.
It would not change what had been recorded or how the information was used.
Daniel nodded and said he understood.
Then he admitted that he had spent months blaming himself for discussing the shop in my house.
I told him he had every right to speak privately with his brother.
The responsibility belonged to the people who chose to listen without permission.
He rubbed his eyes and asked whether we could stop talking about the case for the rest of the evening.
I said yes.
We ordered pizza and watched a baseball game with the sound turned low.
It felt like the kind of ordinary night our father would have enjoyed.
Chapter 66: The Last Interview
Detective Sato asked one final time whether I had ever given Patricia permission to use any recording device inside my home.
I answered no without hesitation.
She asked me to describe the exact limits of the access I had allowed.
I said she could bring food to my porch and, on a few occasions, enter the living room to put it on the table.
I had allowed her to recommend a cleaning service and had permitted cleaners to work in specified rooms.
I had not appointed her as a caregiver or given her access to my personal conversations.
Sato repeated my answer aloud to confirm that she understood it.
