Chapter 2: Blood on the Wall, Lies in the Room

What’s the point of that kind of mediation? Seriously, what’s the point?

All I want is to clear my son’s name! That’s it. That’s all I want.

Even if I’m just a butcher, I know that reputation means everything! Maybe I’m not fancy, but I know what’s right.

I can’t let my son die with everyone thinking he was some creep! I can’t. I won’t.

I shouted, "Mediation? My son died to prove his innocence, and all you care about is mediation?"

My voice cracked, the pain too much to hide. I wanted them to feel it. To understand this wasn’t about money—it was about justice.

Officer Daniels said, "Mark, you have to face reality. Without evidence, it’s just your word…"

He spoke like he was reading from a script, words cold and final. The reality he wanted me to face was a world where the truth didn’t matter—unless you had the right connections.

"Evidence? Isn’t my son’s message in blood evidence? He was still trying to prove his innocence before he died!" I nearly shouted. Wasn’t that enough?

I spat the words out, desperate for someone—anyone—to see reason. The image of Mason’s last message burned in my mind. Why wouldn’t they listen?

Just then, the hospital room door swung open. My heart jumped. Who now?

The door opened with a bang, and in strode David Taylor—Brianna’s father, all expensive suit and practiced scowl. Lisa and Brianna trailed behind, faces masks of outrage and fear. The room shrank around me.

The man frowned as soon as he entered. "Daniels, why haven’t you handled this yet?" His voice boomed. He didn’t even glance at me.

Officer Daniels immediately greeted him. "Mr. Taylor, what brings you here?" The change in his tone was obvious. Sickening.

Daniels straightened up, almost snapping to attention. The deference was impossible to miss. It made my stomach churn. Whose side were they on?

"My wife and daughter were attacked in their own home. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t show up?" Taylor said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

He shot me a look of pure contempt, then turned to Officer Daniels. Like I was nothing. Less than nothing.

His eyes were cold, calculating. I felt the chill, like he could erase me with a word. People like him always got what they wanted.

He puffed up, his voice booming in the small room. "Daniels, I’m telling you, this needs to be handled seriously! People who act like this can’t be tolerated!"

Seeing how chummy they were, I finally understood why the cops ignored Mason’s message in blood, why they kept pushing for mediation, why they wouldn’t investigate Brianna at all. It was all about connections. Privilege. Money.

Connections. Privilege. That’s all that mattered.

But what could I do? I was just a powerless butcher. Just a nobody.

I stared at my calloused hands, remembering every early morning, every late night in the shop, every dollar saved for Mason’s future. None of it mattered. Not against the Taylors’ money and influence.

So, handcuffed to the hospital bed, I could only glare at the Taylors. I had nothing left but anger.

My hatred burned in my chest. Hot. Sharp. I wanted them to feel it. But they just looked right through me, like I was already gone.

Maybe sensing my hatred, Officer Daniels pulled Mr. Taylor aside to whisper. They wanted me out of sight. Out of mind.

They spoke in hushed tones, glancing at me. I could only imagine what they were plotting. How to make this all disappear.

After a while, they returned. The verdict was already written on their faces.

Mr. Taylor looked down at me. Like a judge about to pass sentence.

He straightened his tie, his expression smug. He thought he’d already won.

"Mark Grant, I get that you’re grieving. But what you did today is a crime. Still, given the circumstances, I’m willing not to press charges—if you sign a mediation agreement."

His words were smooth, rehearsed. Like he was doing me a favor. Like I should be grateful for his mercy.

Lisa immediately pulled a document from her purse and tossed it onto the bed. I stared at it, barely believing.

The paper landed with a soft thud. Lisa’s eyes glittered with triumph. To her, this was just another deal to close.

The number—one hundred thousand dollars—glared up at me.

The zeros blurred in my vision. One hundred grand. More money than I’d ever seen in my life, but not enough to buy back a life. Not enough to buy back the truth.

"Take the money and bury your son. Leave us alone."

Her voice was ice-cold. Every word was a slap. She didn’t care about Mason, or me, or anything but making this problem disappear.

I sneered, "You think my son’s life is worth a hundred grand?" I spat the words out. Let her choke on them.

Brianna rolled her eyes. "Your son was weak. He wanted to die. Who’s to blame but him?"

The cruelty in her voice made my blood run cold. She didn’t even flinch. No remorse. Nothing. I saw her for what she was—cold, calculating, heartless.

That was it. I lost it.

A red haze clouded my vision. My body shook with fury. I wanted to scream, to tear the room apart, but all I could do was speak.

I stared at Brianna, enunciating every word. "But it was you who killed him!"

My voice echoed in the room, raw and unfiltered. For the first time, I saw a flicker of fear in her eyes.

Mr. Taylor’s face darkened. For a second, I thought he might hit me.

He stepped forward, his voice booming. But I wasn’t afraid. Not anymore. Not after everything they’d taken from me.

Brianna shrieked, "That’s right! He touched me first! He got what he deserved!"

Her words rang false, brittle. I saw the panic in her eyes now, the way her hands shook as she clutched her phone like a lifeline.

Seeing her still twisting the truth, I couldn’t hold back.

"Why would my son ever want to touch you?"

"If he really did, would he die to prove his innocence?"

The words spilled out, harsh and unforgiving. I didn’t care how cruel they sounded. The truth needed to be heard.

And all of you…

I pointed at the three of them, one by one. I wanted them to feel it.

My finger shook, but my voice was steady. I wanted them to know I saw them, every last one.

"One framed a classmate for a college spot, one covered up her daughter’s lies, one used his power to bury the truth!"

Each accusation landed like a blow. For a moment, none of them spoke. The silence was suffocating.

Mr. Taylor’s face turned red. I could see the vein pulsing in his neck.

He puffed up, trying to look intimidating, but there was fear in his eyes. He wasn’t used to being challenged.

"Then investigate!" I shouted. "Check the security footage! Ask witnesses! Read every word my son left before he died!"

My voice was hoarse, desperate. I just wanted someone—anyone—to care enough to look deeper.

Officer Daniels tried to play peacemaker. He looked tired. Maybe even a little guilty.

He raised his hands, his voice softening just a little. "Mr. Grant, the incident happened in a camera blind spot. According to the report, she was alone reading near the courtyard when Mason suddenly ran over and assaulted her. Mason really did take his own life. It’s not on her!"

How convenient—a camera blind spot. Just perfect for their story.

The words tasted sour. I could see the pattern now—every excuse, every loophole, all working in their favor. The truth didn’t stand a chance.

Now my son was dead—whatever Brianna said was gospel, right? That was it. That was all that mattered.

I felt the weight of the world pressing down on me. Everything was slipping away.

I stared at Brianna. "Would you swear on Mason’s grave that he really touched you?" My voice was cold, steady. I watched her closely.

She trembled, unable to say a word. Her lips moved, but no sound came out.

Her silence spoke louder than any denial. She looked to her parents, desperate for a lifeline.

But Lisa suddenly shouted, "Enough! David, why are we even talking to this lunatic? Let’s press charges! Let him rot in jail!"

Her voice was shrill, desperate. She wanted me gone. Out of their lives. Out of sight.

I shot back, "Go ahead! I admit I broke into your house, but you say I sought revenge—do you have proof?"

"When I came in, my phone was recording! Is there a single threat on it?"

I glared at them, daring them to try. The truth was on my side, even if no one wanted to hear it.

The moment I said I recorded, Brianna’s face went white as a sheet. Panic took over.

Panic flashed across her face. She looked at her mother, then at her father, fear etched into every line.

Lisa lunged for my phone on the bedside table, smashed it to the floor, and stomped on it until it was in pieces. Then she spat,

Her heels ground the phone into the linoleum, plastic and glass crunching underfoot. She looked at me, eyes blazing with triumph, as if destroying the evidence would erase the truth.

"Recording? That’s an invasion of privacy! I’ll sue you for that!" she snapped.

Her words were laced with venom. She straightened up, brushing imaginary dust from her skirt, acting like she’d just won.

I looked at Officer Daniels. I needed him to do something. Anything.

I locked eyes with him, searching for any sign of doubt, of conscience. All I saw was resignation. Just another day at the office.

"Officer Daniels, doesn’t destroying the evidence show she’s hiding something?"

My voice was quiet, almost pleading. I wanted him to see what was right in front of him. To act.

And I couldn’t help but sneer at Lisa: "You think smashing my phone means the police can’t recover the data? Idiot."

I let the insult hang in the air, daring her to respond. The truth was out there, somewhere in the shards of my broken phone. I held onto that hope, even as the world closed in around me.

One way or another, the truth would come out.