The silence that followed Catherine's words was unbearable.
"You don't smell the same."
It lingered in the air, heavier than anything that had been said before.
He looked like Jack.
He remembered like Jack.
He even carried the same scar.
But something—
Something was still wrong.
Jack stood frozen, his shirt still in his hand, his chest rising and falling unevenly.
"I… I don't understand," he said quietly.
But Catherine was already shaking her head.
"No," she whispered. "No, this isn't right…"
Her hands trembled as she stepped back, putting distance between them again.
That tiny detail—
Something so small, so intimate—
Had shaken her more than anything else.
Because scent…
Scent was memory.
Scent was truth.
And her heart knew what her mind was afraid to accept.
This man—
Even if he was Jack—
Was no longer the man she remembered.
"Enough of this."
Uncle Richard's voice cut through the tension like a blade.
He stepped forward slowly, his presence calm… controlled.
Too controlled.
"We are letting emotions cloud our judgment," he said, glancing briefly at Catherine before turning to Jack. "Let's be rational."
Jack's eyes narrowed slightly.
"I've been trying to be rational since I walked into my own funeral," he replied.
A few uneasy chuckles broke out, quickly dying under Richard's cold gaze.
Richard clasped his hands behind his back.
"Then you should have no problem answering a few more questions," he said.
Jack exhaled sharply. "I've already proven who I am."
"Have you?" Richard tilted his head slightly. "Or have you only proven what you want us to believe?"
A ripple of unease spread through the room.
Catherine looked between them, her heart pounding.
Something about this felt… wrong.
Not just Jack.
Not just the situation.
But Richard.
Jack took a step forward.
"What exactly are you implying?" he asked, his voice low.
Richard smiled faintly.
"I'm implying," he said calmly, "that coincidences like this don't just happen."
His gaze sharpened.
"A burned body. A perfectly timed accident. And then—miraculously—you return."
He paused.
"Too perfect."
Jack's jaw tightened.
"You think I planned my own death?"
"I think," Richard said smoothly, "that we don't know nearly as much as we think we do."
Catherine's chest tightened.
Planned… his own death?
No.
That didn't make sense.
Jack loved his children.
He loved her.
Why would he disappear?
Why would he put them through this?
Unless—
Her thoughts spiraled dangerously.
"No…" she murmured, shaking her head.
Jack turned to her quickly.
"Cathy, don't listen to him," he said, urgency creeping into his voice. "You know me."
Do I?
The question hit her like a wave.
Did she really know him?
Or did she only know the man she thought he was?
"Let's simplify this," Richard continued, his tone almost gentle now. "If you are truly Jack… then tell us something about your trip."
Jack blinked.
"My trip?"
"Yes," Richard nodded. "Your business trip. The one you claim delayed your return."
Jack hesitated.
Just for a moment.
"I was in Johannesburg," he said. "Meeting with—"
"No," Richard interrupted smoothly. "Be specific."
Jack frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean details," Richard said, stepping closer. "Names. Locations. Times."
Jack's expression shifted.
Subtly.
But enough.
Catherine noticed.
And her heart sank.
"I…" Jack started.
Then stopped.
The room grew tense.
Every second stretched painfully.
"I was meeting a client," he said finally.
"Which client?" Richard asked immediately.
Jack opened his mouth—
But no words came out.
Silence.
Thick.
Damning.
A whisper spread through the crowd.
"He doesn't know…"
"Something's wrong…"
Catherine's chest tightened painfully.
Jack looked at her, desperation flashing in his eyes.
"I know where I was," he said quickly. "I just—there were a lot of meetings, I—"
"What hotel did you stay in?" Richard pressed.
"I—"
"What was the name of the driver who picked you up from the airport?"
"I didn't—"
"What did you eat on your first night there?"
"I don't remember!"
The words burst out of him.
Raw.
Frustrated.
Real.
But not convincing.
Catherine took a step back.
Her vision blurred.
"You… don't remember?" she whispered.
Jack ran a hand through his hair, clearly shaken now.
"It's not like that," he said. "I just—I've had a lot going on, and—"
"You remember everything about me," Catherine said, her voice breaking, "but you don't remember where you were a few days ago?"
The contradiction hung heavily between them.
Jack froze.
Because he had no answer.
From the side, Richard watched quietly.
Carefully.
Like a man observing a plan unfold exactly as expected.
And then—
He struck.
"The truth is simple," he said.
All eyes turned to him.
"This man knows too much… and yet, not enough."
A pause.
Then—
"He knows the past," Richard continued slowly, "but not the present."
Catherine's breath caught.
Her heart pounded violently.
What did that mean?
Jack shook his head. "That doesn't make any sense."
"Oh, it does," Richard replied softly.
Too softly.
Almost like a whisper meant only for himself.
But Catherine heard it.
And something about it sent a chill down her spine.
Because in that moment—
For the first time—
She wasn't just afraid of Jack.
She was afraid of the truth.
And Richard…
Already seemed to know it.