Confession

I was sitting on the sofa in my father's study, watching him pour himself a glass of whiskey. His hand was shaking, but he willed it steady as he lifted the glass to his mouth and drank more than half of it in large gulps. Then he blew out an uneven breath and sat in front of me in the armchair.

I couldn't miss the tension in his voice when he asked, “What do you want to know?”

I drew a slow breath and locked my eyes on his. “Did you plan Ellard Knight's plane's explosion?”

He worked his jaw. “I cannot answer that question.”

My frustration exploded. I slammed the table with my hand. “What do you mean you can't answer that question?! The answer should be simple! Either you did it or not!”

He frowned. “I can't answer because I don't know!”

I leaned back in my seat, dumbstruck. I studied him for a few heartbeats before muttering, “What do you mean you don't know?”

He lowered his head. “Back then… I had strange lapses of memory.” He looked at me as his lips twitched into a wry grimace. “I