113

The constant hum of the machines was the only thing breaking the silence in the hospital room.
Richard Lerner had been hooked up to a monitor for two weeks, which accurately tracked the weak but persistent rhythm of his heart.
His body, covered in bandages and bruises, seemed to struggle every day between pain and resignation.
The wound in his side had been more serious than the doctors had expected; the bullet had left him on the brink of death. And although his body was beginning to heal, his mind remained trapped in a maze of guilt, memories, and fear.
Every night, when the hospital was plunged into darkness, Richard thought of Natalia. He thought about how he had seen her for the last time, trembling in front of him, with tears in her eyes and a question he didn't know how to answer.
He hadn't had the strength to explain anything to her. Nor to defend himself.
Now, in that oppressive silence, he was certain of only one thing: he had to write to her.
He asked the nurse for paper and a pen. It was difficult to hold the pen between his fingers, but he didn't give up. With trembling handwriting, he began to write.
"Natalia:
I don't know if you'll ever read this. I don't even know if I'll survive long enough to give it to you, but I need to tell you the truth.
That night... I wasn't driving. I swear on Georgie's memory. It wasn't me who drove him to his death. Someone changed the reports, Natalia, someone powerful. I tried to speak up, but they silenced me. They threatened to destroy you and Nathan if I opened my mouth.
There are names I can't put here. If this letter reaches you, look for the man with the gold watch. He knows the truth. He was there.
Forgive me for not being brave before. Forgive me for not protecting our son.
—Richard."
He finished writing with tears staining the paper. His breathing became irregular.
He clutched the sheet between his fingers, folded it carefully, and placed it in a white envelope. Then he called the nurse.
“Please...” he said in a barely audible voice, “give this to my brother... to Henry Lerner. He'll know who to give it to.”
The nurse nodded, unaware of the gravity of his words. She filed the letter away with the other papers in the medical record and promised she would take care of it. But that letter never reached its destination.
That same night, a man dressed in a dark suit entered the room with a court order in his hand. He said he was from internal security.
He searched the patient's belongings and discreetly took the envelope from the file before disappearing down the hallway.
***
Meanwhile, at the Strongs' house, Jarek was reviewing the file for the umpteenth time. The name S. H. continued to haunt him like a constant echo.
He knew exactly who those initials belonged to: Silas Harris.
His former partner and best friend. How was that possible? He hadn't heard from him in years.
The discovery had left him frozen. He couldn't understand why he would have witnessed something so important or why he had never said anything.
That morning, he found her in the kitchen making coffee. The light of dawn filtered through the window, giving the scene a peaceful air, but his uneasiness prevented him from breathing.
Jarek leaned against the doorframe and watched her silently for a few seconds, as if searching for an invisible sign.
“I'm going out,” he said at last, his voice grave.
Suzanne turned, confused by the tension emanating from him.
“So early? Did something happen?”
“Not in this house,” he replied, avoiding her gaze. “I just... need to clear up some things.”
She frowned, sensing that something was wrong, but didn't press him.
“If you want to talk, you know you can.”
Jarek nodded half-heartedly and picked up his coat. He couldn't drag her into a doubt that even he couldn't articulate.
He closed the door gently, and as soon as he was on the street, determination hardened his features.
For weeks he had followed a name like a shadow: Silas Harris. Old records, erased addresses, calls that no one answered.
He had discovered that the man had not lived in the city for years. He had left for abroad without saying goodbye, without a trace.
And now, suddenly, he was back in recent files.
Jarek felt a knot in his stomach. He had never suspected him. He remembered Silas as a discreet man, almost invisible.
Could it be possible that he had been involved in his grandson's death?
He drove to a neighborhood he didn't know, a cluster of dull buildings. According to the latest clue, that was where he was.
He found him coming out of the doorway, hunched over, his hair thinner and with a tired expression he didn't recognize.
“Silas,” he called.
The other man turned slowly. His eyes widened when he saw him.
“Jarek Strong...”
“Where were you the day Georgie died?”
The question hit him like a ton of bricks.
Silas paled. He looked around, as if searching for an escape route.
“You have no idea what you're talking about.”
“Answer me,” Jarek demanded, taking a step forward.
The man swallowed, unable to hold his gaze.
“I shouldn't have come back.”
The tension between them thickened.
“You said you were innocent,” Jarek whispered. “Look at me and say it again.”
Silas took a step back, as if the weight of the years had suddenly fallen on his shoulders.
“I didn't hurt your grandson,” he said at last, in a low voice. “But I wasn't brave either.”
Jarek didn't respond. He looked at him, waiting for him to continue.
Silas swallowed.
“That day... I was driving near the hospital. I was late for a doctor's appointment. And then I saw him.”
Jarek felt his pulse pounding in his ears.
“What did you see?”
“Georgie.”
Saying the name was like opening a wound.
“He was running. Not like a child playing... he was running as if he were scared,” Silas said, clenching his teeth. “He crossed the street without looking, his eyes full of fear.”
“And you?” Jarek asked tensely.
“I braked. I slammed on the brakes so I wouldn't hit him,” he replied. “I saw him right in front of me, so small... so lost.”
Jarek breathed heavily.
“Why didn't you get out of the car?”
Silas shook his head slowly, ashamed.
“Because another car appeared behind him. Black. Tinted windows. It didn't sound like a regular car... it sounded expensive. Heavy.”
Jarek's fingers clenched into fists.
“What happened?”
“Georgie looked back,” he continued. “And then... he disappeared from my sight. The car moved forward, I hesitated for a second... and then I didn't see him anymore.”
“Did they pick him up?” Jarek whispered.
“I don't know,” he admitted. “All I know is that he didn't come back out on the other side of the street.”
Silence enveloped them.