Chapter 7
The revelation hung heavily in the vivid, brightly colored room. The cinematic lighting seemed to sharpen, acting as an unforgiving spotlight on Silas Thorne's guilt. The financial associate's breathing became ragged, his chest heaving under his tailored gray suit.
"You photographed the ledgers," Vincent stated, his voice a low, lethal hum that vibrated through the polished mahogany table. He rested his large, tattooed hands on the back of an empty chair, leaning forward slightly. "Those ledgers contain the identities of every bribed politician, every corrupted judge, and every federal agent on our payroll. Why, Silas?"
"Vincent, you have to understand," Silas pleaded, his voice cracking into a pathetic, high-pitched whine. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a trembling hand. "The feds are closing in! They subpoenaed my firm last week! I needed leverage! I needed an insurance policy just in case they brought me in for questioning!"
"An insurance policy," Vincent repeated, his eyes devoid of any human empathy. "You planned to trade the lives of my entire family... for your own immunity."
"I was never going to use them unless I had to!" Silas cried out, desperation stripping away his dignified facade. "I swear to God, Vincent! I have been loyal to this family for twenty years! I made you millions!"
"And Helena? Adrian?" Vincent asked, slowly turning his head to look at his aunt, who was currently cowering against the wall. "How did they become involved in your treason?"
"They caught me!" Silas confessed, pointing wildly at Helena. "They caught me leaving the study! I told them what I did, and I told them that if they helped me get rid of the maid, I would cut them in on the offshore accounts! They wanted the money, Vincent! They wanted the power! They were planning to use the feds to remove you from the throne!"
"Shut up, you fool!" Helena shrieked, her fair face contorted in absolute panic. "He is lying! He manipulated us!"
Vincent did not raise his voice. He simply raised his right hand, giving a subtle, sharp signal to his men.
The response was instantaneous. The white American bodyguards stationed along the walls drew their weapons in perfect synchronization. The metallic clack of firearms being readied echoed through the silent dining hall. They leveled their guns directly at Silas, Helena, and the groaning Adrian.
"You invited the federal government... into my home," Vincent whispered, the controlled pauses highlighting his apocalyptic rage. "You attempted to murder an innocent woman. And you laid your hands... on my three-year-old son."
Silas scrambled backward in his chair, his hands raised in terror. "Vincent, please! We can fix this! I'll destroy the photographs! I'll give you everything I have!"
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"You have nothing," Vincent declared coldly, standing up to his full, imposing height. "You are already a ghost."
He looked at his lead bodyguard. "Secure the doors. No one leaves this room."
