SORRY MR. CROWNELL YOU'RE TOO LATE
Tyron
The words settled like ice through every vein in my body. Ethan. Our Ethan, the quiet one who painted landscapes in his spare time, who barely spoke unless prompted, who'd always seemed the least ambitious among us six brothers.
"There has to be an explanation," I said, though even as the words left my mouth, doubt crept through them entirely.
"Send me everything, Gray. Every transaction and every communication."
Gray's fingers flew across the keyboard, and within moments, a detailed timeline populated the screen, spanning back further than any of us could have anticipated.