The Forrester mansion glowed beneath the soft shimmer of evening light, its chandeliers casting golden halos across polished marble floors. Guests murmured politely, champagne glasses chiming like crystal secrets waiting to spill. Tonight was supposed to honor Eric Forrester — the visionary designer, the beloved patriarch, the man whose legacy had shaped fashion and family for decades. But beneath the curated elegance, grief, and rehearsed admiration, tension crawled like a crack in glass. Something was wrong. Something was coming.

For Donna Logan, that “something” rested in her trembling hands — a vintage tape recorder she’d found among Eric’s private belongings shortly after his hospitalization. She had pressed play out of longing, hoping to hear his voice one more time. What she heard instead was a confession that turned her world upside down.

Eric, his voice gravelly with age and regret, admitted to a crime he had hidden for decades — a crime tied to Stephanie Forrester. A drunken night, a vicious argument, a canyon road, a crash that spiraled into tragedy… and a cover-up orchestrated to protect the Forrester name. Donna had replayed the tape until her soul felt bruised. The truth was unbearable — but so was silence.

So she stepped forward.

As the memorial crowd hushed, Donna raised the recorder, her voice breaking as she began. What started as gentle remembrance sharpened into a tremor of fear and resolve. Then came the click — a tiny metallic sound that detonated the room.

Eric’s confession filled the hall like ghostly thunder. Every word cut deeper:
The accident. The guilt. The manipulation. The doctor paid off. The empire built on a lie.

The silence afterward was suffocating.

Ridge’s jaw clenched, rage tightening every muscle. Thorne paled, his hands curling into fists as decades of resentment finally found a target. Brooke looked torn between grief and revulsion. And Donna — dear, grieving Donna — felt the air leave her lungs as she realized she had just torn open a wound that could never be closed.