This wasn’t just an expensive object destroyed. It was a piece of my career. And Derek had planted the idea directly into a child’s head, then let that child act on it.
The commotion brought everyone running. Clare came in first, my sister, thirty eight years old, blonde hair pulled back in a loose clip, wearing a soft blue blouse she’d probably bought specifically for lakeside family photos. She saw Tyler standing there. She saw me holding the broken guitar. Then Tyler’s expression shifted instantly, his confidence draining away, his mouth trembling, tears appearing so quickly they looked almost rehearsed.
What did you do to my son, Clare demanded. I held up the shattered guitar. Tyler destroyed this, I said. Derek told him to test it. Clare didn’t hesitate for a second. She crouched down and pulled Tyler into her arms as though I were the actual threat in the room. He’s nine, Marcus, she said. He didn’t know it was expensive. Eight thousand dollars, I told her. She gasped, and for one brief moment I thought she genuinely understood. Then her shock curdled into anger instead. You spent eight thousand dollars on a guitar, she said, as though that were the actual crime here. It’s vintage, I said. A 1975. Worth more now than when I bought it. I use it professionally.
