I have learned that a guilty person, given silence to fill, will fill it with a confession.

Three days later I invited Brenda and Derek to breakfast at a quiet diner, and I played a part I have never played before or since: the defeated, broken old man.

I wore a faded shirt.

I slumped my shoulders.

I let my voice go small and pleading.

“I just want to end this nightmare,” I said.

“Please.

Just return the house, the truck, the savings, to my daughter.”