Chapter 7 - The Confession
The interrogation room at the federal holding facility downtown smelled of stale coffee and industrial cleaner.
Arthur Sterling sat on the other side of the stainless-steel table, his expensive bespoke suit looking rumpled and pathetic under the harsh yellow glare of the overhead light. The veneer of corporate untouchability had completely vanished, replaced by the desperate, sweating panic of a man who realized he had miscalculated every single variable.
I stood behind the two-way mirror in the observation room, watching his hands shake as he clutched a paper cup of water.
Detective Vance stepped into the interrogation room, dropping a digital audio transcription packet onto the table.
“Let’s not waste everyone’s time, Arthur,” Vance said, sitting down opposite him. “We have your personal laptop, we have the wire transfers to the chemist who synthesized the botulinum derivative, and we have the biometric server logs proving you entered Mr. Vale’s penthouse at 3:15 AM on Saturday morning.”
Arthur let out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Julian thinks he’s a king. He thinks because his grandfather built these docks and shipping lines, he owns the city. He abandoned the family business! He turned his back on the board to play domestic house-husband with a baby!”
“So you decided to murder a six-month-old infant to teach him a lesson?” Vance asked, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy tone.
“I didn't want him dead!” Arthur snapped, his voice cracking with defensive panic. “I wanted him incapacitated long enough to sign the emergency corporate restructuring papers! The neurotoxin was calculated to cause temporary respiratory distress and paralysis—it was supposed to look like a sudden viral infection! How was I supposed to know Emma Carter would pull a miracle out of her medical bag?”
Behind the two-way mirror, my hands curled into fists so tight my fingernails bit into my palms.
He admitted it. On a federal recording. In crystal-clear detail.
“It doesn't matter what your intentions were, Arthur,” Vance said calmly, pulling out a pair of steel handcuffs and laying them on the table. “Conspiracy to commit murder, corporate embezzlement, and child endangerment. You’re looking at consecutive life sentences without the possibility of parole.”
Arthur slumped back in his chair, the last remaining trace of defiance draining out of him as the steel cuffs were locked securely around his wrists.
I turned away from the glass, letting out a long, shuddering breath that felt like shedding a twenty-year-old skin.
Viktor stood by the door, handing me my overcoat. “The federal prosecutor is filing the formal indictments now, Boss. Sterling Industries and all associated shell companies are being frozen under federal asset forfeiture laws.”
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“Good,” I said, slipping my arms into the coat. “And the assets recovered from Sterling’s offshore accounts?”
“Earmarked for the pediatric research fund at Children’s Harbor Medical Center,” Viktor said with a faint, approving smile. “Anonymous donation, of course.”
