Chapter 175 - The Center Piece
The visitation room was cold and sterile, with a single table and two chairs. Ivy sat down, trying to calm the storm inside her. It felt like years had passed since she'd last seen Hunter whilst it was just a day.
So much had changed. She thought, thinking there was no way she would have thought she'd ever come to a place like this to see Hunter.
The door on the opposite side opened, and Hunter walked in, his wrists cuffed in front of him. He looked thinner, his eyes sunken but still sharp. His gaze landed on Ivy, and for a moment, surprise flickered across his face.
Why was she there? Did she want to ask him the sane question everyone was asking him or had she come to ask what truly happened?
Did she come to ask what happened with his father or what happened between them? He sighed when he realized he had been overthinking and that she was there which meant he could ask her anything.
"Ivy," he said, almost breathless but Ivy merely looked at him.
They stood there in silence for a few moments, neither knowing how to start. Ivy's mind raced with questions, but she didn't want to speak first.
He had come to say saying he had a lot to say so why wasn't he saying anything? Ivy mused with displeasure.
Hunter broke the silence. "I'm sorry," he said, his expression aligning with his apology.
Her eyes narrowed. "Sorry for what?" she asked as she looked at him since she had expected him to start with his father's case. How could he be thinking of getting her forgiveness when he should be more concerned about his reputation?
Hunter sat down slowly, keeping his eyes on her. This was the only chance he had to play his forgiveness card.
If he didn't do it now, he'd loose the chance to ever do so. He thought, taking a deep breath to calm his head.
"For everything," he said quietly. "For lying to you. For betraying your trust." He swallowed hard. "When I first met you, my father had... plans. He told me to spy on you. While I wanted so bad to seduce you, prove to you that no woman could turn me down."
Ivy's breath hitched. She had always there was more to Hunter's pursuit of her, but hearing it confirmed felt like a knife twisting in her chest.
"But something changed," Hunter continued. "Somewhere along the way, I fell for you. And when I refused to go through with the plan, my father was furious." He leaned forward, his expression earnest. "I know it sounds like I'm just saying this to win you back, but it's the truth. I never wanted to hurt you. I had wanted to tell you but I couldn't stop."
Ivy looked away, her thoughts a whirlwind. She wanted to believe him, but trust was fragile. Could she really forgive him?
After a long pause, she finally asked, "Did you kill your father?" deciding not to comment on what he had said earlier.
Hunter's eyes widened. "Of course not! Ivy, I would never do something like that."
There was no hesitation in his answer, no flicker of guilt or fear. Ivy studied his face, searching for any sign of deception, but found none.
"Okay," she said softly. "Then who was the girl at your place?"
Hunter frowned. "What girl?" Hunter asked in confusion.
"Don't lie to me," Ivy snapped.
"I'm not lying," he insisted. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Hunter, I saw her," Ivy said, her frustration rising. "She was at your place just hours after you were arrested."
Hunter's eyes darkened with confusion. "Describe her."
Ivy hesitated, then gave a detailed description. As she spoke, Hunter's face twisted into a scowl.
"That's my half-sister, Chloe," he said flatly.
Ivy's mind raced. Chloe? The same Chloe that Matthew, the lawyer, had mentioned earlier?
"What was she doing there?" Ivy asked, her suspicion growing.
"I have no idea," Hunter said. "Chloe and I aren't close. We barely talk. Besides, I was already arrested so how would I know?"
Ivy bit her lip. Something didn't add up. Chloe's presence at Hunter's place couldn't be a coincidence. Or was it in anyway connected to what was written in Hunter's journal.
Taking a deep breath, Ivy reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. She scrolled to the photos she had taken of the last pages of Hunter's journal which she hadn't showed to Emma.
Turning the phone toward him, she showed him the images.
Hunter's face darkened. "Where did you get those?"
"Don't worry about that," Ivy said. She scrolled to the final page. "What about this? You wrote it, didn't you?" she asked scowling to the last pay.
Hunter's brow furrowed. "No. I didn't write that."
Ivy felt a chill run down her spine. "What do you mean?"
"That handwriting... it's not mine," Hunter said firmly.
Ivy's mind raced again, piecing together the puzzle. If Hunter didn't write the last entry, then someone else had. And whoever it was wanted to make it look like Hunter was guilty. It had to be Chloe.
"Tell me how you got this," Hunter demanded but Ivy shook her head.
"It doesn't matter," Ivy said. "I'll talk to your lawyer. Telling you won't solve anything right now."
Hunter clenched his jaw but didn't argue. Ivy stood up, ready to leave. Her thoughts were spinning too fast for her to stay any longer.
"Ivy," Hunter called after her.
She paused but didn't turn around.
"Thank you for coming," he said quietly.
Without another word, Ivy walked out of the room, her mind a tangle of questions and suspicions.
In the reception area, Emma stood as soon as she saw Ivy return. "Are you okay? How was it?"
Ivy gave a small nod. "Let's go. I'll tell you all about later."
They walked out together, the cold air outside biting at their skin. As they got into the car, Ivy couldn't shake the feeling that something much bigger was at play. And if her suspicions were right, they were all in danger.
Away from there, Matthew Lewis drove down the quiet street toward Mr. Sherlock's house, his mind heavy with thoughts.
The sun was beginning to dip behind the horizon, casting long shadows over the neighborhood.
Mr. Sherlock was the key to uncovering the truth about Hunter's case. He had to know what was really in Mr. Stone's will and since when it had been that way. That was the only way to start making sense of everything.
When Matthew reached the house, he parked along the curb. Something immediately felt off.
The front door was slightly ajar, swaying gently with the evening breeze. His brow furrowed. Why would anyone leave their door open?
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He had heard that Mr. Sherlock was a meticulous man, someone who double-checked everything. So why was he seeing the opposite?
Matthew stepped out of the car, his lawyer's instincts on high alert. Every step toward the house sent a fresh wave of unease through him. When he reached the door, he called out, "Mr. Sherlock? It's Matthew Lewis. Are you home?"
He waited for an answer but then, his fall fell when there was no answer.
He took a cautious step inside. The house was eerily silent except for the faint ticking of a clock. "Mr. Sherlock?" he called again, louder this time.
He stopped in his tracks and his heart skipped a bit when he saw it or rather him.
Lying in the middle of the living room floor was Mr. Sherlock. Blood pooled around his motionless body, soaking into the hardwood floor. A gash ran across the veins of his left wrist.
Matthew's breath caught in his throat. For a moment, he couldn't move. It was as if time had frozen.
No. Not him. Not like this. This couldn't be suicide.
His mind raced with possibilities. Had Mr. Sherlock really tried to take his own life? Or had someone done this to him?
He forced himself to move, dropping to his knees beside the man. Mr. Sherlock was pale, his breathing faint but still there. There was still a chance to save him.
Beside the body lay a handwritten note, its edges stained with blood. Matthew's hands trembled as he picked it up.
[Whoever finds this, please know I did this because I couldn't bear the guilt. Hunter approached me a while back to have his father's estate, which had been initially given to his sister Chloe Stone, transferred to him. I had done that, thinking Mr. Stone wouldn't find out. But when he knew and called me to demand answers, Hunter didn't let him. He killed his father to make sure everything remained the way it was. I couldn't stay shut. I was starting to feel so guilty for betraying my client's confidentiality and for receiving bribes. Hence I've sought to make amends.]
Matthew's heart pounded as he finished reading. The words felt wrongāforced, almost too convenient.
"This isn't right," he muttered aloud. "None of this makes sense."
Hunter had insisted he hadn't killed his father, and Matthew believed him. And now this? If someone wanted to frame Hunter, this note was the perfect way to do it and making it look like a suicide.
It was more than clear to him that Mr. Sherlock was a center piece in all this.