Chapter 8 - The Interrogation Room Confession
Julian stepped into the isolation cell, his polished leather shoes making quiet, rhythmic clicks against the bloody linoleum. His security guards stepped into the corners of the room, blocking the only exit, their hands resting casually on their weapons.
"Leave her alone, Julian!" Victoria screamed, lunging forward, but the single remaining restraint on her right arm yanked her violently back against the mattress. "She's carrying your child, you monster!"
Julian didn't even look at Victoria. He kept his eyes locked on Emily, walking until he was standing less than two feet away from her. He reached out with gloved fingers and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind Emily’s ear. Emily didn't flinch. She stared directly into his soulless, pale blue eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her fear.
"My child?" Julian chuckled softly, a dry, humorless sound. "Do you really think I care about an infant, Victoria? Children are liabilities. They require trusts, guardianships, court-appointed advocates. An infant survivor only complicates the liquidation of Vance Enterprises."
"You were going to let our daughter fall four stories onto marble," Emily said, her voice shaking with pure hatred. "You stood there and watched."
"I didn't watch; I orchestrated it," Julian corrected calmly, tilting his head. "And to be fair, Emily, it was an elegant design. An old historic estate, a tragic structural failure, a jealous, unhinged sister who couldn't bear to see her younger sibling marry the man of her dreams. The public would have wept for me. The stock price of Sterling Innovations would have surged on pure sympathy."
Julian pulled a fresh, crisp set of documents from his leather folder and laid them flat on the small metal tray beside Victoria’s bed. He unscrewed his silver fountain pen.
"Here is what is going to happen," Julian said, his voice dropping into a chilling, businesslike cadence. "You are going to sign the full transfer of executive power right now, Emily. Both of you will then be loaded into the back of an unmarked ambulance. You will suffer a fatal pulmonary embolism en route to Zurich—a tragic complication from the trauma you sustained on the balcony. Victoria will commit suicide out of grief and guilt in her cell three days later."
"And if I refuse to sign?" Emily asked, her chin raised.
Julian reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, glass vial containing a clear liquid, along with an insulin syringe.
"If you refuse, I inject your sister with potassium chloride right now. Her heart will stop in forty seconds. It will be agonizing. And then, I will inject you. Your baby will suffocate in your womb before your own heart gives out. I still get the estate through the emergency survivorship clause in your father's original trust. It takes three months longer in probate court, which is mildly inconvenient for my cash flow, but entirely manageable."
Julian held the pen out to Emily. "Sign the paper, Emily. At least give your daughter a few more hours of life."
Victoria sobbed violently, thrashing against the bed. "Don't do it, Emily! Let him kill me! Don't give him anything!"
Emily looked at the paper. She looked at the pen. Then, she looked at the heavy, reinforced surveillance camera in the upper corner of the psychiatric cell.
"Tell me one thing first, Julian," Emily said, her voice steady. "Did my father suffer? When you paid that mechanic to cut the brake lines on the Jaguar... did he know it was you?"
Julian smiled—a hideous, arrogant smirk that showed all his white, perfect teeth.
"Arthur knew," Julian whispered, leaning close so only she could hear. "He called me from the car as he was heading down the mountain pass at ninety miles per hour. He was begging me to spare you. He offered me every dime he had. I stayed on the line until I heard the metal crush against the rocks. It was the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard."
"Good," Emily whispered.
"Good?" Julian frowned, his eyes narrowing.
Emily reached up to the lapel of the doctor's coat she was wearing. With a swift, deliberate motion, she pulled back the fabric, revealing a small, black wireless lapel microphone pinned to her collar—its tiny red LED light glowing brightly.
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"Because the New York State Attorney General’s Special Investigations Unit was listening to every single word."
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