Chapter 7: Beneath the Surface

Welcome to Chapter 7

In Chapter 6, the pressure mounted.

With time running out and the McLeod brothers facing possible release, Detective Jean Lavallee made his move—separating Gerald and Jerome for one final round of questioning. What followed was less about answers and more about exposure.

Gerald exploded first, trying to shield his brother with a hasty confession. But even that fell apart under the weight of logic and motive. Lavallee saw through the bravado—beneath it, a man both angry and afraid.

Then came Jerome. Timid, uncertain, and visibly cracking under the scrutiny. His fidgeting hands and half-truths revealed more than his words ever could. His version of events mirrored Gerald’s a little too perfectly—until guilt pulled at the seams.

By the end of the interviews, Lavallee hadn’t just heard their story. He had felt their panic. Beneath every denial and deflection, something real trembled: fear, grief, and the suffocating weight of family secrets.

In Chapter 7, the investigation pushes deeper. New players will emerge. Old truths will surface. And Lavallee, driven by his own ghosts, is far from done.

The McLeod brothers may not be talking—but their silence is starting to scream.

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Chapter 7

 

The Brothers Are Free

 

That Evening – Day 2:

 

The farmhouse sat in silence, cloaked in a dim, stagnant light. Its peeling wallpaper and sagging furniture bore witness to years of neglect. Gerald and Jerome McLeod lounged on the sunken couch in the front room, the flicker of a hockey game casting sharp shadows across their faces. Empty beer cans and greasy fast-food wrappers were scattered across the room, the air thick with the sour tang of stale beer.

 

On the screen, the Canadiens and Nordiques clashed in a bitter rivalry, but neither brother seemed invested. Gerald leaned back, feigning indifference, a half-empty beer can danglingfrom his hand. Jerome sat hunched forward, his hands clasped, his nervous energy betraying his attempt at calm.

 

The door banged open, and Uncle George strode in. His gaze swept the room, taking in the mess with a mix of frustration and exasperation. He kicked an empty can out of his way as he entered.

 

“You two better not think you’re on vacation,” he barked. “Get this place cleaned up. Now.”

 

“We’ll get to it,” Gerald replied, his eyes fixed on the TV. “The game’s not over.”

 

George’s boots clomped heavily across the warped floorboards. Without a word, he jabbed the power button on the television, plunging the room into silence. “It’s over now. Get up and clean this pigsty. We’ve got work to do.”

 

Gerald shot him a glare but didn’t argue. He tossed his beer can onto the coffee table and rose with a huff. Jerome followed quickly, gathering cans and wrappers as though eager to avoid conflict.

 

When the room was marginally cleaner, George sat in the armchair across from them, his piercing eyes locking onto each of their faces. “Listen closely,” he began, his voice low but firm. “You’re out now, but don’t mistake that for freedom. The cops are watching, waiting for one of you to screw up. Lavallee isn’t done with this.”

 

“He’s bluffing,” Gerald said dismissively. “If they had anything, we wouldn’t be sitting here.”

 

George leaned forward, his voice sharp. “Don’t underestimate him. That detective doesn’t play small-town games. Stick to the story we agreed on, no matter what.”

 

Gerald shrugged. “We already did. Same line every time—Dad left; we don’t know where he went.”

 

“Did he ask about the girlfriend?” George pressed.

 

“Yeah,” Gerald replied, crossing his arms. “We said we didn’t know her.”

 

Jerome cleared his throat, his voice tentative. “He also asked about money. And about … bikers.”

 

George’s brow furrowed. “What did you tell him?”

 

Gerald smirked, a trace of mischief lighting his face. “I said Dad owed money to some bad guys. Gave them something to chase.”

 

George slammed his hand on the armrest, making Jerome flinch. “You think this is a joke? Throwing wild stories around? They’ll dig into every damn one of them. You don’t think they’ll sniff out the truth eventually?”

 

“They’ve got nothing,” Gerald shot back, his voice rising. “If they knew anything, we’d still be in jail.”

 

George’s expression darkened. “That arrogance is going to get you caught. Lavallee doesn’t need much—just one slip. And if he connects the dots, he’ll bury us all.”

 

The room fell silent, the weight of George’s words pressing down on them. Jerome shifted uncomfortably, his hands twisting in his lap. Gerald leaned back, his smirk faltering.

 

“What about the gun?” Jerome asked softly.

 

“It’s hidden,” George said sharply. “They’ll never find it unless one of you decides to grow a conscience or lose your head. And if they start digging too close, I’ll handle it. But don’t think for a second that means we’re safe.”

 

Jerome hesitated. “What about a will?”

 

George’s expression clouded momentarily before he recovered. “If Ian had one, I haven’t seen it. I’ll check with local lawyers, but for now, we assume there isn’t one. That means your mother inherits everything. The land stays in the family.”

 

Gerald rolled his eyes. “So, what’s the big deal? We stick to the story, keep quiet, and this whole thing blows over.”

 

George’s jaw tightened. “You think this is over? Lavallee will pick you apart if you give him even an inch. The only way this works is if you both stay out of trouble and keep your mouths shut. That includes you, Gerald. Your smart-ass remarks won’t save you when the walls close in.”

 

Gerald’s smirk disappeared, replaced by a hard glare. “You don’t run me, George. I don’t need your lectures.”

 

George’s voice dropped, icy and deliberate. “Then maybe you need a reminder of what’s at stake. One wrong move, and you’re not just going back to jail. You’re going down for murder.”

 

Jerome sat frozen, his wide eyes darting between his uncle and brother. The tension in the room was electric, the unspoken conflict simmering beneath the surface.

 

George stood abruptly, signalling the end of the conversation. “Remember what I said. Stick to the story. Don’t talk to anyone. And don’t let that detective rattle you.”

 

He paused in the doorway, his expression softening as he looked back at them. “You’re my family. I don’t want to see you go down for this. But if you don’t get it together, there’s nothing I can do to save you.”

 

He turned and left without another word, the door slamming behind him. The sound echoed in the silence that followed.

 

Gerald leaned back on the couch; his arms crossed. “Uncle George thinks he’s the boss,” he muttered, a dangerous edge to his voice. “But he’s not the one they’re looking at.”

 

Jerome shifted uneasily. “You sure we’re good? That Lavallee guy … he didn’t seem like a pushover.”

 

Gerald smirked again, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “We’re fine. If we stick to the story, he’s got nothing.”

 

But Jerome wasn’t convinced. The way George had looked at them, the warnings in his voice … Something didn’t sit right. And in the pit of his stomach, Jerome felt the creeping certainty that the worst was yet to come.