The autumn sun was lowering over Manhattan when Edward Miller stepped out of his black town car and adjusted the cuff of his Italian shirt.

The rain had stopped by 2:00 AM, leaving the streets of Long Island City glistening under the buzz of amber streetlights.

Inside The Iron Anchor, a dark, sticky-floored bar near the industrial docks, Gary Vance sat at a back booth, nursing his fourth glass of cheap whiskey. He was a thick-necked man in his late fifties, with graying stubble and a heavy leather jacket that smelled of stale tobacco.

The bar door chimed. Gary didn't bother looking up—until three men in tailored black suits walked in, followed by Edward Miller.

The few patrons in the bar took one look at Marcus’s imposing frame and quickly gathered their coats, slinking out the back exit. The bartender hurriedly stepped into the back room, locking the door behind him.

Gary reached toward his jacket pocket, but before his fingers could touch his belt line, Marcus grabbed his wrist, pinning it to the sticky table with enough pressure to make the heavy leather crack. Marcus neatly slipped a loaded .38 revolver out of Gary’s coat and tossed it onto the bench.

Edward walked over, pulling out a chair across from Gary, and sat down smoothly.

"Mr. Vance," Edward said, setting a heavy gold lighter on the table. "You look tired."

Gary swallowed hard, sweat suddenly breaking out across his forehead. "I don't know who you are, buddy, but you're making a big mistake—"

"My name is Edward Miller," Edward interrupted quietly.

Gary’s jaw tightened, his eyes darting frantically toward the front doors. "Miller..."

"Four hours ago, I took Maya out of the rain on Forty-Eighth Street," Edward continued, leaning back in his chair. "She’s currently sleeping in my home, being cared for by three doctors. She told me all about the basement on Fifty-Fourth Street. She told me about the clear glass vial."

Gary tried to wrench his wrist free from Marcus’s grip, but Marcus didn't budge an inch. "I don't know what that crazy kid is talking about! I was just looking after her out of charity! Isabella paid me to take care of her!"

"You didn't take care of her. You starved her," Edward said, his voice dropping into a chilling register. "You kept a six-year-old child in a cellar so Isabella could access her trust fund. And when Isabella decided to poison my food at The Gilded Lily, you drove Maya there to act as a distraction."

"No!" Gary protested, his voice cracking with panic. "That wasn't the plan! Isabella told me to drop the kid off so she could steal a purse or cause a scene! She said it was just to make a scene so you'd think the restaurant was unsafe!"

Edward raised an eyebrow. "Is that what she told you?"

"Yes! I swear to God!" Gary stammered, tears of fear finally spilling down his weathered cheeks. "Isabella told me she was just putting a mild sedative in your drink to make you sick so she could 'save' you and look like a hero! I didn't know it was poison! I swear I didn't know!"

Edward stared at Gary for a long, silent moment. "You're lying about your innocence, Gary, but you just gave me exactly what I needed."

Edward pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped the screen, stopping an audio recording app that had been running since he walked through the door.

"That's a full, recorded confession of conspiracy to commit murder, child abuse, and grand larceny," Edward said, standing up and buttoning his overcoat. "Detective Reyes from the NYPD is standing outside in the alley right now."

The front doors of the bar burst open, and four armed police officers rushed inside, guns drawn.

"Gary Vance, you're under arrest," Detective Reyes announced, stepping up to the booth and slapping a pair of heavy steel handcuffs around Gary’s wrists.

As the officers dragged Gary out into the street, Detective Reyes walked over to Edward.

"We searched Vance’s basement on Fifty-Fourth Street twenty minutes ago, Mr. Miller," Reyes said quietly. "We found Isabella’s handwritten instructions detailing how to dose your food, along with receipts for the synthetic toxin purchased from an illegal pharmaceutical importer in New Jersey."

Edward looked out the window as Gary was shoved into the back of a police cruiser. "What about Isabella?"

"The doctors say she’s waking up from her chemical coma," Reyes replied. "Two officers are stationed outside her room at Bellevue. As soon as she’s stable, she’s being transferred to Rikers Island without bail."