“I love you, Dad,” Jason said. “I know I don’t deserve to say that, but I do. And I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to make this right.”
The line went dead.
Jenkins led Jason away.
I sat there for a moment, phone still pressed to my ear, watching my son disappear through the metal door.
Then I stood and walked out of that jail as fast as I could.
Outside in the parking lot, I pulled out my phone and called Bradley.
He answered on the second ring.
“Luke, everything okay?”
“No,” I said. “We need to talk now. It’s about Jennifer and Marcus.”
I unlocked my car, hands still shaking.
“They’re planning something. Something that involves Eleanor.”
“What do you mean?” Bradley demanded.
“Jason just told me everything,” I said. “Marcus Webb isn’t just Jennifer’s accomplice. He’s her boyfriend. Has been for years. And if they think Eleanor’s testimony is going to put them away forever…”
I didn’t need to finish.
Bradley’s voice hardened.
“Where are you now?”
“Leaving County Jail No. 5.”
“Meet me at the station in thirty minutes,” Bradley said. “And Luke—call Eleanor. Make sure she’s somewhere safe.”
I hung up and immediately dialed Eleanor’s number.
It rang.
And rang.
No answer.
My blood turned to ice.
Three days later, I sat in Detective Bradley’s office, staring at a table covered in evidence—bank records, phone logs, photographs, surveillance reports.
The entire conspiracy laid out in paper and digital files.
Bradley slid a folder toward me.
“Jennifer withdrew fifteen thousand in cash three months ago from a joint account with Marcus Webb,” he said. “An account we didn’t know existed until yesterday.”
I opened the folder.
Bank statements showed regular deposits from both Jennifer and Marcus dating back two years, withdrawals for travel, equipment, and one large payment to someone named R. Torres, memo line: consultation.
“Who’s Torres?” I asked.
“We’re still tracking that down,” Bradley said. “But based on the timing and amount, we think it might have been payment for information. Maybe someone who helped them plan the technical aspects.”
Bradley pulled up another file on his laptop.
“Phone records show Jennifer and Marcus talked almost daily for the past eighteen months—sometimes multiple times a day.”
He turned the screen toward me.
Call logs. Text messages. Timestamps.
Even GPS data showing they’d met in person dozens of times while Jennifer was still married to me.
“She was planning this before the divorce,” I said numbly. “Years before.”
“This wasn’t impulsive,” Bradley said. “This was methodical.”
“Marcus Webb. Forty-two. Mechanical engineer with fifteen years’ experience in HVAC systems. No priors. Clean record. Which makes him even more dangerous because no one was watching him.”
I stared at Marcus’s photo.
Ordinary face. The kind you’d pass on the street and forget immediately.
But those were the eyes that had looked at my house and seen a murder scene.
“What’s the plan?” I asked.
Bradley closed his laptop and looked at me directly.
“We need Jennifer to confess on tape,” he said. “Her lawyer’s already building a defense that Jason acted alone. That she had no knowledge of the plot.”
He held my gaze.
“Without solid proof of her involvement, she might walk.”
“Jason’s testimony—”
“Can be dismissed as a drug addict trying to reduce his sentence by blaming his mother,” Bradley said. “We need her words. Her voice admitting what she did.”
He stood and walked to the window.
“Prison visits are our best shot. Jason can request to see her. If he plays it right, she might let something slip.”
“You want to use my son as bait?” I asked.
“I want to use your son,” Bradley said, “to catch the woman who manipulated him into attempted murder.”
His voice was firm.
“Luke, this is our chance. Maybe our only chance.”
He picked up his phone and dialed, putting it on speaker.
After three rings—
“Hello?”
Jason’s voice, thin, nervous.
“Jason,” Bradley said, “it’s Detective Bradley. Your father’s here with me.”
“I’m here, son,” I said.
Bradley continued.
“Jason, we need your help. We need you to request a visit with your mother. Get her talking about the plan, about Marcus, about what she told you to do.”
Silence.
“Then she’ll know,” Jason whispered. “She’s smart. She’ll see right through it.”
“Not if you play it right,” Bradley said. “You’re angry at your father for abandoning you. You’re hurt that he hasn’t visited more. You want your mother to know you’re still on her side.”
Jason’s breathing hitched.
“But I’m not.”
“She doesn’t know that,” Bradley said. “As far as Jennifer knows, you’re still her son who’d do anything for her.”
Bradley glanced at me.
“Make her feel safe. Make her think you’re still under her control. Then ask about the plan. Say you’re worried Marcus might talk. See how she reacts.”
Another long silence.
“What if she figures it out?” Jason asked. “What if she realizes I’m wearing a wire or that you’re listening?”
“Then she’ll call her lawyer and the visit ends,” Bradley said. “But if she doesn’t—if she talks…”
He let it hang.
“Jason, this woman tried to kill your father using you as the weapon. She doesn’t get to walk away from that.”
I heard my son breathing on the other end of the line.
I said quietly, “You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready.”
“No,” Jason said.
His voice was stronger now.
“No. I want to. I need to. This is the only way I can make it right.”
Bradley nodded.
“Tomorrow. Two p.m. We’ll have audio recording through the prison phone system and officers standing by.”
Bradley’s jaw was tight.
“If she suspects anything—if she asks for her lawyer—you end the conversation immediately. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Jason said.
“If this works,” Bradley added, “your cooperation will be noted in your sentencing. I can’t promise anything, but it will matter.”
“I don’t care about that,” Jason said.
His voice cracked slightly.
“I just want to stop her from hurting anyone else.”
Bradley exhaled.
“Good. I’ll arrange the visit for tomorrow at two. Stay strong.”
“Wait,” Jason said.
There was a tremor in his voice.
“Dad, are you still there?”
“I’m here.”
“If something happens to me in here,” Jason said, “if Mom figures it out and—”
“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” I said.
“But if it does,” Jason whispered, “I need you to know I love you. And I’m sorry for everything.”
My eyes burned.
“I love you too, son,” I said, voice thick. “And I forgive you.”
I heard him crying softly before the line went dead.
Bradley set the phone down and turned to me.
“What about Marcus Webb?”
“We’ve got units watching his lawyer’s office and monitoring all communication from his cell block,” Bradley said. “If Jennifer tries to warn him, we’ll know.”
He pulled up another file.
“Marcus is being held in San Mateo County. Separate facility. No contact with Jennifer. But prison has ways of passing messages.”
“You think she’ll try?”
“If she’s smart, no,” Bradley said. “If she panics, yes.”
He closed the file.
“Either way, we’ll be ready.”
I stood up, legs unsteady.
“What do I do?”
“Go home,” Bradley said. “Stay with Eleanor. Make sure she’s safe.”
His expression softened slightly.
“And tomorrow at two p.m., pray your son can pull this off.”
The trap was set.
Twenty-four hours until we caught a killer—or lost our only shot at justice.
I walked out of Bradley’s office into the bright San Francisco afternoon, the fog just starting to roll in from the bay.
Tomorrow at two p.m., everything would change one way or another.
The next day, at exactly two p.m., Jennifer Morgan walked into the visitation room at San Francisco County Jail like she was walking into a boardroom she knew she’d dominate.
I watched from the observation room, Bradley beside me, heart pounding.
This was it.
Three weeks of planning.
Jason’s courage.
Our one chance to get Jennifer to incriminate herself on tape.
She looked perfect even in an orange jumpsuit.
Even after three weeks in jail, she’d maintained that ice-queen composure. Her hair was styled in a sleek ponytail. No makeup, but she didn’t need it.
Her face was a carefully constructed mask of controlled calm.
She sat down across from Jason with the confidence of someone who thought she still controlled everything, who thought her son was still her weapon.
Jason sat with trembling hands but clear eyes. Three weeks clean.
