Chapter 7 - The Father's Betrayal
Julian aimed the pistol directly at my chest, completely ignoring the bleeding mechanic on the floor.
"Hand over the recorder, Maya, and I might make this quick," Julian demanded.
I took a slow step back into the shadows of the garage.
"You killed a seven-year-old girl, Julian," I said, my voice trembling with absolute hatred.
Julian shrugged his shoulders as if we were discussing a bad business investment.
"She was in the wrong car at the wrong time," he replied casually.
The cartel gunmen raised their rifles, waiting for Julian's final order to fire.
Suddenly, the rusted side door of the garage swung open with a loud screech.
My father walked into the room, wearing his expensive linen suit and carrying a briefcase.
"Put the gun down, Julian," my father ordered sharply.
I felt a tiny spark of hope that my father had finally realized the monster his son had become.
Julian lowered the pistol slightly, looking confused by our father's sudden appearance.
"We do not need to kill her here and leave a messy crime scene," my father explained to the cartel men.
My father opened his briefcase and pulled out a stack of forged psychiatric documents.
"I have already signed the commitment papers stating Maya is completely insane and a danger to herself."
My father planned to lock me in a private, heavily corrupted psychiatric facility for the rest of my life.
He was going to chemically sedate me until I signed over Ethan's entire estate to them.
Julian laughed loudly, realizing the absolute brilliance of the evil plan.
"You always were the smartest guy in the room, Dad," Julian praised him.
My father walked over to Julian and patted him gently on the shoulder.
"I really am," my father whispered softly.
Without any warning, my father grabbed the suppressed pistol from Julian's hand.
He aimed it directly at his own son's leg and pulled the trigger without a second of hesitation.
Julian screamed in agony as he collapsed to the greasy floor, clutching his bleeding thigh.
My father looked at the cartel gunmen and tossed the briefcase of money at their feet.
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"Take my son," my father said coldly.
"He is the one who owes you the debt, and I am officially washing my hands of him."
