Chapter 8 - The Confession on Tape
Alistair Vance cleared his throat, desperately trying to reclaim control of the room as the wealthy patrons watched in stunned silence.
“Mr. Vance… Julian,” Alistair said smoothly, forcing a tight, nervous smile. “Let’s not make a scene. This is a family matter. We can discuss the trust deeds in my private office upstairs. Whatever Beatrice wants—”
“Beatrice doesn't want a backroom deal, Alistair,” Julian interrupted, tossing a sleek black digital recorder onto the center of the mahogany table.
The device clattered against a silver ash tray.
Alistair stared at it, suspicion narrowing his eyes. “What is this?”
“That,” Julian said, stepping aside so Beatrice could take center stage, “is a synchronized audio recording of your business partner, Arthur Pendleton, explaining his entire plan to murder his new bride and transfer the South Boston waterfront deeds to your corporate shell company.”
Judge Gallagher’s face went completely grey. He grabbed the edge of the table to keep from collapsing.
“You’re bluffing,” Alistair hissed, though his voice shook. “Arthur is dead. Dead men don't talk.”
“No, they don't,” Beatrice agreed softly, stepping closer to Alistair. “But before he died in that bridal suite, Arthur was entirely too fond of bragging about his cleverness. He recorded his notes on his phone—the same phone that was automatically backed up to my personal cloud storage three days ago.”
A lie, brilliantly delivered. Arthur hadn't recorded anything of the sort, but the sheer panic in Alistair and Thomas’s eyes told her everything she needed to know. They knew the digital trail existed, and they knew it led straight to the federal penitentiary.
“Every wire transfer,” Beatrice continued, her voice echoing in the silent room. “Every offshore account in the Caymans. Every threat my father made to keep me compliant. It’s all on a secure server currently being reviewed by the United States Attorney’s Office.”
“You wouldn't…” Judge Gallagher whispered, staring at his daughter as if seeing a monster for the very first time. “You would destroy your own family name? Your mother and I gave you everything!”
“You gave me a cage,” Beatrice shot back, her eyes flashing with ice. “And tonight, I’m burning it to the ground.”
Alstair Vance lunged for the digital recorder on the table, desperate to destroy it, but Marcus—who had silently entered the room behind them—grabbed Alistair’s shoulder, pinning him instantly back into his chair with bone-crushing pressure.
May you like
“Leave it, Alistair,” Julian warned, his hand resting casually inside his coat pocket. “The copies are already in federal hands. The only question left is whether you and Thomas want to spend the rest of your lives in a maximum-security prison, or if you want to sign over the entire South Boston trust portfolio back to its rightful owner right now.”
---
