“You study them?” Scout asked.
“I mentor them.”
“You collect them?” Scout pushed.
The faintest pause.
Then:
“I invest in potential.”
Burke leaned in.
“Where were you between 22:23 and midnight?”
“At home.”
“You can prove that?”
“My partner can.”
Silence.
Sinclair’s gaze shifted—slowly—between each of them.
“You believe I staged something,” he said calmly. “You believe there’s narrative symmetry here.”
No one answered.
He continued.
“But symmetry is something investigators impose after the fact.”
He set the pen down.
“If you’d like to search my home again, you’re welcome to.”
Scout felt it then.
Not arrogance.
Not fear.
Control.
Total.
Unrushed.
Unrattled.
Tucker clicked off the recorder.
“For now,” he said.
Sinclair inclined his head.
“As you wish.”
