“The audio track is baked into the stream,” he said. “If the video is there, the sound is there.”

I leaned forward, my hands tightly gripped in my lap.

The progress bar ticked up to eighty percent.

The rain outside seemed to grow louder, washing against the glass pane.

“Almost done,” Vance whispered.

He pressed three more keys in rapid succession.

The green text stopped scrolling.

A video player window popped up on his screen, showing a dark, still frame of Patricia’s kitchen.

“This is it,” Vance said. “Do you want to play it?”

“Yes,” I said. “Play it from the beginning of the incident.”

He clicked the play button.

The screen showed the kitchen table, cluttered with mail and a half-empty bottle of red wine.

I saw myself enter the frame, wearing my light blue coat.

A second later, Patricia appeared, her face red and distorted with anger.

The audio was crisp.

“You owe this family, Elizabeth!” Patricia’s voice screamed from the laptop speakers. “Jason deserves that money!”

“I am not paying for his lifestyle, Patricia,” my voice replied on the recording. “He needs to earn his own way.”