I remembered Claire asking about the security and backup arrangements.
The conversation I'd dismissed.
Mara continued.
“Ethan's phone was configured to send newly recorded media to the family archive when connected to the home network. The archive maintained separate historical backups for a limited period before being replaced.”
I swallowed.
“But it's been more than two years.”
“Yes. Under normal circumstances, that would be a major obstacle.”
She looked toward the specialist.
He explained that Claire had previously arranged for copies of certain family archive data to be transferred onto external storage.
Some of that equipment had remained disconnected in the studio after her death.
The recovered material was incomplete.
But it contained a video file consistent with Ethan's description.
Its preservation had required examination and verification.
The investigators had also obtained information from the original service provider and compared relevant metadata.
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Then I asked.
“Have you watched it?”
Mara nodded.
“Yes.”
My throat tightened.
“Does it show what happened?”
She took a breath.
“It shows part of the confrontation. It doesn't establish every event by itself.”
I stared.
She continued.
“Your son's account, the financial records, and additional evidence will all need to be considered.”
For several seconds, the room was quiet.
Then I asked.
“Can I see it?”
Mara looked toward me.
“I'd like you to understand that the footage may be distressing.”
I nodded.
“I know.”
She studied me.
Then discussed what could appropriately be shared at that stage.
When I eventually saw the verified recording through the process arranged by the investigators, I felt as though the floor had disappeared beneath me.
The image was unsteady.
Ethan had been standing near the upstairs hallway, holding his phone at an angle that captured part of the landing.
Claire's voice was unmistakable.
“You are not moving another dollar until the board sees the audit.”
I closed my eyes.
I hadn't heard her voice in so long.
For a moment, the words almost didn't matter.
All I could hear was Claire.
Alive.
Angry.
Strong.
Vanessa stood near the staircase.
Her expression was tense.
She wore a pale-gray blouse and black trousers.
“Claire, you're misunderstanding the arrangement.”
My wife shook her head.
“Then explain the false invoices.”
The camera shifted.