Chapter 3 - The Interrogation in the Study
Twenty minutes later, the charity brunch had been violently cleared out. The donors, politicians, and photographers had fled the estate faster than rats from a sinking ship, terrified of being caught in the crosshairs of an enraged Evan Whitaker. Inside my private study, the heavy mahogany doors were bolted shut. The room smelled of old leather, expensive bourbon, and impending doom. Vanessa stood in the center of the Persian rug, her chest heaving, trying desperately to rebuild her crumbling facade. “Evan, you’re overreacting,” she stammered, forcing a shaky, unnatural laugh. “That little brat broke my shoes, and the help—this hysterical housekeeper—disrespected me in front of society! You can't possibly believe—”
I didn't yell. In the mafia, yelling meant you had lost control. And I had never been more in control of my lethal impulses than I was at that exact second. I walked slowly around my desk, my heavy boots striking the floorboards, and slid my laptop across the wood. I pressed play. Instantly, crystal-clear high-definition video filled the room, complete with audio captured by the hidden cameras and microphones I had secretly installed throughout the mansion prior to “leaving for London.” The screen flickered to life, showing eleven days of living nightmares. It showed Vanessa throwing Caleb’s blue-threaded rabbit into the incinerator. It showed her locking Sophie in a dark closet for crying over a broken toy. It showed her whispering psychological poison into my children's ears, teaching them that their father was a monster who would abandon them.
Vanessa’s face turned the color of ash. She stared at the screen, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Where... how did you...” she choked out. “You said you were in London!”
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“I was right here,” I said quietly, walking toward her until I towered over her shaking frame. “Watching every single second of how you abused the most precious things in my life.” She backed away until her spine hit the heavy oak bookshelves. Realizing she couldn't talk her way out of this with charm or lies, her expression twisted into pure, venomous malice. “You think you can just throw me out after everything? After we were supposed to be married?! I know your secrets, Evan! I know your accounts, your safehouses, your laundering channels! If you ruin me, I’ll burn your entire empire to the ground with you!”
I let out a low, humorless chuckle. She still didn't understand who she was dealing with. “You think an empire built on blood and steel can be brought down by a gold-digger with a shopping addiction?” I signaled toward the heavy double doors, and my chief enforcer, Tommy, stepped inside, flanked by two armed men in dark suits. “Take her to the basement holding cell. Let her think about all the secrets she knows. By morning, my lawyers will have stripped her of every cent, every asset, and every legal right to exist in polite society.”
