Introduction

My son Leo, valedictorian, MIT-bound.

On his graduation day, my heart swelled with pride as I ironed his gown.

He was my entire world, the only light left in it.

Then, my ex-wife Victoria called, her voice flat: "Problem at the old industrial freezer.

Go now."

Dread seized me.

I ran.

The massive door creaked open to darkness and a metallic scent.

My phone's light revealed the horror: Leo, grotesque, hundreds of construction spikes pinning him.

"Dad?" he whispered.

Then he was gone.

Trapped with his body, I called Victoria.

She scoffed, dismissing his death as a "prank."

My own father only wanted money.

At the hospital, Victoria' s security blocked Leo' s ambulance while she discussed a new family with Chad.

He then tricked me into a "miracle procedure" to save Leo – actually, to dissolve his body and destroy evidence.

I burst into the OR: hazmat suits, acrid chemicals, Leo' s desecrated remains.

They were dissolving my son.

My grief transformed into pure, black rage.

Victoria then called this unspeakable horror a "prank that got carried away."

The profound betrayal and boundless cruelty were incomprehensible.

Something inside me snapped.

As Victoria's men dragged me away to a forced psychiatric committal, her mocking words echoed.

I looked at her, at Chad, at the vile scene.

My voice, flat and emotionless, was a vow: "You will pay.

Both of you.

You will pay for this."

This was no longer just sorrow; it was a chilling promise.