Ari Shivitzel was a middle-aged tycoon known for belittling others and flaunting his wealth through extravagant, unnecessary luxuries. His latest indulgence was one of the first Ford Model T cars to hit the streets. Yet, despite his extravagant tastes, he had amassed a vast fortune and made sure it never stopped growing.

  He had a younger brother, Yankov, who received a substantial inheritance but squandered it on horses, cards, and beautiful women. Having lost everything, he was at Ari’s mercy—a fate he deeply resented. Ari often mocked him, saying, “Quod natura non dat, Princetonia non praestat,” Princeton being their alma mater.

  Ari's broad waist was wider than his narrow shoulders. At social gatherings, he was noticed only for his immense wealth, which he used to distance himself from others. Often, you’d find him sequestered, reading a book or the newspapers. He only engaged with people when a business deal was at stake.

  Unlike her husband, Miriam commanded attention wherever she went. Her dark hair and captivating bright blue eyes stood out in striking contrast. At five foot eight, her slender figure and graceful demeanor inspired awe. Yet beneath her poised exterior lay a woman plagued by insecurities. You could say Ari exploited these self-esteem issues to convince her to marry him. After all, he had the money to make up for his looks and used it to buy whatever she fancied. Besides, he took care of her every need, and she appreciated that.

  Not long after their wedding, Miriam faced a difficult pregnancy that kept her bedridden for the last four months under strict doctor’s orders. During those long months, Ari stayed by her side in their mansion, calling it his “duty.” The situation devastated him, as he loved taking long walks with her in the evenings.

  Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore. The tension in the house was suffocating, and he knew something had to change. Turning to his wife, he said, “Miriam, we need a change of scenery. Staying cooped up like this is only making your anxiety worse. Pack your things; we’re going to the cabin this week.” Ari had convinced himself that peace and quiet would do her good.

  Miriam hesitated. “We’ve already been hit by several winter storms. The roads aren’t safe.”

  He was unmoved by her concerns. “We’ll be fine.”

  She sighed. “It’s not just the icy roads. The doctor strictly forbade me from traveling.”

  “The cabin’s air will strengthen you. I won’t let you waste away here.” He waved a hand to dismiss her complaints. “Miriam, you’re going with me to the cabin this week, even if I have to drag you out of this house.”

  By his third glass of whiskey, Miriam knew better than to argue with him. His stubbornness often overruled reason, ultimately driving them to a remote cabin, your cabin, on a cold winter night. It was a decision he’d come to regret.

  “Ari, you only listen to one voice, yours!” Miriam said in frustration as they were driving to the cabin. Despite her advanced pregnancy and protests, she reluctantly followed him.

  The first few days were a trial for Miriam. Her contractions came and went, the pain persistent and debilitating. Still, Ari insisted she cook and even demanded she join him on his long walks through the woods. “It’ll do you good,” he claimed, ignoring her exhaustion. “Nothing strengthens the mind and body like a healthy dose of fresh air. It is good for the child also,” he remarked.

  By the sixth night, Miriam’s pains worsened. She begged Ari to take her to the hospital, but instead, he replied with irritation, “Miriam, all you’ve done is complain since we got here.” She moaned in anguish, but Ari scowled and walked out to the woodshed.

  Ari returned to the cabin with a pile of logs and tossed one into the fireplace. He drank a few glasses of Glenfiddich, savoring the smooth Scotch as he settled in to read. Miriam’s cries interrupted his peace. “Ari, please! My water broke!”

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  He finally paid attention to her cries. He grabbed his coat and fetched their car. The snowstorm that raged all day left the roads treacherous, but Ari, drunk on the alcohol he’d consumed, drove on. The car slid over the icy paths as Miriam writhed in pain beside him.

  The road was steep and winding, the faint glow of the carbide headlight lamps barely piercing the snow during the moonless night.

  A firetruck appeared out of nowhere, its bright lights blinding him. Ari jerked the wheel, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision. The car skidded off the road, crashing twenty feet below.

  The fire truck driver scrambled down the slope. Ari was lifeless, slumped over the wheel. Miriam was barely alive. The car teetered on the edge of another drop, forcing the driver to act quickly. He pulled Miriam free and carried her up the cliff.

  He rushed her to the nearest hospital, a small clinic with one doctor and a couple of nurses. Miriam gave birth to a baby boy. She whispered his name, “Shlomo Shivitzel,” as her strength finally gave out. Miriam’s final breath was her son’s name.

  Sam paused, stood up, and took a brief look around the cell. “It’s kind of poetic, like a match that lights a candle as it burns itself away.” Joseph’s breathing grew shallow as Sam finished the tale of Ari and Miriam Shivitzel.

  With his shoulders hunched and head bowed, Joseph sank deep into his bench as a memory finally took hold of him. His mind drifted back to the moment earlier that evening when he was talking to Ruth.

  “I’m in my third month,” she’d revealed with a bright smile. Joseph waved her off and muttered that he was having another drink. Good news became the start of an argument.

  Ruth showed him a pair of delicately knitted blue baby socks that she had bought that week. He shot back, “Ruth, this is not the right time. Why won’t you listen?” She tried to reason with him. He drank more, his words more abrasive with every sip.

  “I’m keeping him,” she firmly asserted. Her voice was defiant. He turned and walked away. She was standing angry at the entrance of the living room. With trembling words, she pleaded, “We can’t keep going like this. You have to decide.” He’d been holding the gun then, not knowing that it was loaded. Alcohol is very good at making you miss important small details.

  Her voice and that moment felt like an accusation, a gavel falling in his mind.

  A sudden chill engulfed him. Shadows stretched longer, with the light retreating as if repelled by darkness. Sam’s seductive voice seemed to cast a spell on him.

  Sam played with the reflection of the moonlight on his flask, studying Joseph with a detached curiosity. “Fate is a peculiar thing, Joseph,” he mused. “People like Ari think they’re in control, until they aren’t.”

  Joseph, briefly spared from the spell, finally spoke. “What do you want from me?” he asked as if pleading for his life.

  Sam placed his flask inside his jacket with deliberate precision. His eyes locked on Joseph’s, his face devoid of expression. “Let’s just say that I have an interest in that cabin and the choices people make within its walls. Even the smallest choice creates ripples beyond this world, like a pebble does when dropped in a still pool, unaware of how far they will travel.” Sam leaned back, carefully measuring his next words. “I also have a particular fondness for tragedy—actors forever dancing on the scales between good and evil, never knowing when the music will stop.”

  Joseph pleaded once more. “Can you actually help me?”

  “Very well,” Sam replied with a firm tone, noting the distress in Joseph's voice. “You have been patient enough. Let’s focus on you. Tell me, what happened?”

  Joseph’s thoughts went back to the body on the floor. He couldn’t bear the memory of her candid smile, the woman who a day ago was laughing at his jokes. His voice trembled as he explained, “I was talking to her about the pregnancy, how difficult things will be for us right now. She was not listening…”

  Sam raised a hand, prompting Joseph to go silent. “Confessions are cathartic, Joseph. Justice can be easily biased by perception. A well-phrased lie can turn a villain into a hero and a hero into a fiend. You're too flustered to make any reasonable statements right now. Your perspective on everything that has happened today will change once you and I are done talking.”

  Joseph didn’t reply. What could he say? Sam’s story was a bit removed from his own life. But one fact had caught his attention, his wife’s maiden name, Shivitzel. A name he’d heard a thousand times, yet now it stirred something he couldn’t place.