Chapter 5 - The Confession on Tape
Senator Vance’s hand hovered for a second over the syringe, his aristocratic composure cracking as the sheer impossibility of the moment registered in his brain. For a man who spent his life manipulating public perception and cutting deals in smoke-filled backrooms, standing face-to-face with a man he believed he had successfully buried was a terrifying reality check.
"You..." Vance choked out, his voice losing its smooth political cadence. "You're supposed to be comatose. Alistair swore your neurological functions were fried."
"Alistair is a physician, Thomas, not an actor," I said smoothly, swinging my legs over the side of the bed once more. This time, I didn't need Grace's help to stand. The adrenaline of righteous fury acted as a better painkiller than any pharmaceutical cocktail the hospital could provide. I stood tall, towering over the senator as I stepped into the pale moonlight. "And you're a terrible assassin. Cutting brake lines? Really? I expected more creativity from a man aspiring to govern the state of New York."
Vance’s eyes darted toward the door, calculating his chances of escape. But Grace was standing right in front of the exit, her grip on the heavy metal wrench steady and unwavering.
"You can't touch me, Dominic," Vance hissed, trying to regain his footing, puffing out his chest with artificial bravado. "I am a United States Senator. If anything happens to me, federal marshals will tear your entire empire apart brick by brick before sunrise. You think your little mafia cronies can protect you from the full weight of the DOJ?"
"The DOJ?" I let out a low, humorless chuckle, stepping closer until I was inches from his face, smelling the panic radiating off his expensive wool coat. "Thomas, look down at your hand."
He blinked, glancing down at the syringe still clutched in his sweaty grip.
"That needle contains a lethal dose of potassium chloride," I whispered, holding up the blinking burner phone. "And this device isn't just recording audio. It's streaming a live, encrypted data packet directly to three independent federal prosecutors, two investigative journalists at the New York Times, and a secure digital locker held by my personal legal team. Every word you just said about assassinating me, liquidating my trusts, and funding your campaign with stolen blood money is currently being transcribed in real-time."
Vance’s face turned the color of ash. The syringe slipped from his nerveless fingers, clattering loudly against the hospital linoleum.
"You... you set me up," he whispered, his voice trembling.
"No, Thomas," I corrected him coldly. "You walked right into a trap of your own making. Greed is a predictable disease. It makes smart men do incredibly stupid things."
I turned my head slightly toward the door. "Marcus. You can come in now."
The heavy oak door swung open instantly. My consigliere, Marcus, stepped into the room, flanked by two towering, grim-faced security operatives in dark suits. Marcus looked at me, then at the cowering senator, and let out a long, slow breath of relief.
"Boss," Marcus said, bowing his head slightly. "I told you we should've checked the senator's security clearance six months ago."
"Save the lecture for later, Marcus," I instructed, tying my hospital robe securely around my waist. "Escort Senator Vance to his private vehicle. Make sure he understands that he has exactly twelve hours to publicly withdraw his gubernatorial candidacy due to 'sudden health reasons' and transfer full control of his campaign funds back to our foundation. If he refuses, the audio file goes public before breakfast."
Vance swallowed hard, his knees visibly shaking as Marcus’s men grabbed him firmly by both arms. "Dominic... please. We can talk about this. Let's make a deal—"
"The only deal you have left, Thomas, is whether you spend the rest of your life in a maximum-security penitentiary or a medium-security one," I said, turning my back on him. "Get him out of my sight."
As the door clicked shut behind the disgraced politician, leaving Grace and me alone once more, I let out a long breath, feeling the first real wave of exhaustion wash over my bruised body.
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"Well," Grace said softly, lowering the metal wrench with a quiet sigh. "That's one down. What about Miss Hale?"
I looked toward the window, watching the distant lights of the Manhattan skyline glittering against the night sky. "Veronica is playing her final card tomorrow morning at the board meeting. And that's where we'll finish this game once and for all."
