Terry stopped the recording, watching my face.
“You finally saw it for yourself,” he said.
I couldn’t answer. My throat wouldn’t work.
He wheeled closer and took my hand.
“Your parents came to me three weeks before prom, Chloe. At the diner where I worked weekends. Your dad slid an envelope across the table.”
“How much?” I whispered.
“Twenty thousand. They said you were headed for an Ivy League school, that I was ‘small-town baggage.’ They said I’d hold you back forever.”
“Of course. So they followed me the day I picked up my suit. Your dad told me later at the hospital that it was supposed to be a scare. Just enough to shake me up.”
I felt my body go cold.
“When the first time didn’t work, he followed me again, and your mother told him I was coming to you, hence the second attempt. After the accident,” Terry continued, “they came to the hospital. Not to apologize. To warn me.”
