Seventy-Five

As the room hung heavy with tension, I could feel the weight of their gazes on me, scrutinizing my every move and word. But beneath their facade of composure, I could sense their unease, their fear flickering like a hidden flame.

With calculated calmness, I leaned back on the couch, my eyes locking onto each of my uncles in turn. Their collective presence seemed suffocating, but I remained composed, playing the role of the innocent nephew seeking justice.

"I know who killed my parents," I declared, letting the words hang in the air, savoring the moment of uncertainty that washed over them.

Uncle Robert, always the one to challenge, attempted to dismiss my claim with a laugh, but his eyes betrayed a hint of apprehension. His reaction confirmed what I already suspected—they were not as confident in their deception as they appeared.

"Atlas, don't be insane. Your parents' death was an accident!" Robert retorted, trying to maintain control of the situation.

I met his gaze evenly, allowing