The Truth

Onew had barely even touched his breakfast the next morning when Eugene came into the room and said, “Got a guest, Mr Onew – Mr Minho, and he’s not looking happy.”

Stomach lurching unpleasantly, he carefully put down his spoon and said with a lightness that did not reach his heart, “Thank you, Eugene. Let him in.”

His housekeeper departed. There was the heavy sound of footsteps up the stairs, irritated and impatient. Then the door was thrown open and Minho stood there before him, in a manner that suggested he was ready for fight. Onew was not prepared to give it to him – he was not eager for confrontation, not so soon after old wounds had closed. “I spoke to Junmyeon,” he said simply, tension working in his jaw.

“I see,” Onew returned, not getting up from his seat, “What did he tell you?”

“He admitted that the fight took place,” Minho stated, “In his own words, ‘Yifan was always trying to make money off those wretched paintings, draining the finances away.’ He said that night he had gone to look at Minri’s jewellery and found that it was missing. He confronted Yifan over it, because after everything that had occurred he knew it must be him, and Yifan told the truth.”

“And he admitted to threatening to kill him?” Onew pressed.

Minho could only nod, staring mournfully at the ground. Onew reached out to offer comfort, then thought that perhaps it was not what Minho wanted in this moment. “Sehun was there as well – and he also knew what his uncle had done. Of course, he was much more crude about how he felt about it.”

Onew gave a thin smile at that; doubtless the youngest Kim would not have been subtle in expressing his hatred and revulsion towards his deceased uncle. He realised Minho was looking at him expectantly. “It’s a motive, but words are words,” Onew said reflectively, “People say a good many things. Whether or not they act upon them…”

“Do you think he acted upon them?” Minho cut off, folding his arms.

Onew said archly, “I thought it didn’t matter what I thought?”

“Because you won’t tell me what you’re really thinking!” Minho roared. Onew said nothing as Minho paced back and forth angrily, sitting there in his armchair with hands in a steeple. “Damn it all, Onew! Why won’t you say who it is? You know!”

At last, he said, not looking Minho in the eye, “I’ve had suspicions for a long while now, of whom it might be. It was difficult at first because nearly everyone seemed out to try and get rid of Yifan…I have a feeling now. It makes logical, sound sense, but a lot of my theories do.”

“Then why not tell us! We can find something – we can help! The bastard’s murdered three people – he nearly killed you! And I…” Minho’s voice was very quiet, “I could not do anything.” 

Onew continued to speak, his voice that insufferable calm, placid tone. “First, I do not wish to show my hand without conclusive proof. A feeling is not enough to land people in prison. I have sent out for the evidence I require – if it comes back, then I am correct and we can hand things over to the law. Otherwise…” Here, Onew, unshakeable, unruffled Onew, appeared to pause, a strange look upon his face. “I would rather not bring more strife upon that cursed household. If I’m incorrect, then the theory can be shelved and no one should be any wiser. I don’t want to be wrong again.”

Something in his expression, or in his words, or perhaps in Minho’s fear-ridden heart that twisted things, appeared to shake the taller man – all strength seemed to leave his body, and he leant heavily against a side table. He gripped the edge with boneless fingers. When Minho found his voice again, it was shaking. “So… It could still be Junmyeon, couldn’t it.”

Onew did not say anything, only pressed his hands together and appeared to gaze outwards towards infinity. Never before had Minho wanted to strangle him more. “We have to cover all angles. Well…How’s this – I’m a man of the law. And no friendship, no friendship can survive a murder. Junmyeon will be brought in for police que