Chapter 7 - The Confession
"You think a video proves anything?" Vivien’s voice dropped its honeyed cadence, turning sharp and brittle like cracked glass. "It’s circumstantial. Digital files can be manipulated. Any competent defense attorney in Manhattan would tear that tape apart in five minutes."
"Maybe," Nathaniel said, stepping closer until she was cornered against the edge of the medical cart. "Rosa’s daughter saw you do it, too."
Vivien’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "That little maid’s brat? Who is going to believe a three-year-old child over a respected socialite? Her testimony wouldn't even be admissible in a family court, let alone a criminal trial."
"She didn't need to testify in court," a calm, steady voice echoed from the doorway.
Nathaniel and Vivien both whipped their heads around.
Standing in the doorway was Inspector Miller of the Greenwich Police Department, flanked by two uniformed officers and holding a digital voice recorder in his hand.
"Everything you just said, Miss Cole, has been automatically transmitted to our department’s active case file," Inspector Miller said, stepping into the room with a heavy, deliberate stride. He tapped the flashing red light on the recorder in his palm. "Including your admission that you anticipated an investigation and your reference to manipulating evidence."
Vivien stared at the police inspector, her face draining of all color. The polished, untouchable facade crumbled completely. She lunged forward toward the door, trying to bolt past the officers, but strong hands caught her arms, pinning them behind her back with a definitive click of steel handcuffs.
"You can't do this!" Vivien shrieked, her voice echoing down the sterile hospital corridor as they dragged her toward the exit. "You don't know who you're dealing with! My family—"
"Your family law firm dropped your trust account ten minutes ago when we executed the search warrant on your Greenwich apartment," Inspector Miller replied flatly over his shoulder.
The heavy doors swung shut, cutting off her screams.
Inside the room, the silence returned—not the suffocating silence of suspicion and fear, but a clean, quiet stillness.
May you like
Nathaniel let out a long, ragged breath he felt like he’d been holding for days. He turned back toward the hospital bed.
Margaret was watching him with a faint, grim smirk playing at the corners of her bruised mouth.
