“Please, Terrence…” I said, almost in a whisper, my voice laced with quiet pleading. I stood in front of his office desk, gripping its edge as if it were the only thing holding me up.

I had just told him that I wanted to know the truth about what happened back then—but there he was, just looking at me. Silent. No reaction.

“I already told you,” he finally said, his voice low but firm, “that I’ll prove to you my family had nothing to do with what happened to yours. What more do ...