Chapter 9 - The Confession in the Dark
The holding quarters in the basement of the east wing were cool and austere. Victoria sat on a metal bench, her burgundy dress ruined, her long black hair disheveled. Damon lay on a cot in the corner, holding an ice pack to his swollen jaw, groaning in pain.
The heavy oak door unlocked, and Arthur walked in alone, locking the door behind him. He pulled a wooden chair up, turned it around, and sat down facing Victoria, resting his large hands on the backrest.
“You have three minutes, Victoria,” Arthur said, his narrowed light-blue eyes locking onto hers. “Tell me the truth, and I will let you leave the country with a monthly allowance. Lie to me, and I will turn over the bank records of your offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands to the federal prosecutor by midnight.”
Victoria began to cry hysterically, her hands trembling violently. “It wasn't my idea, Arthur! I swear to God it wasn't my idea!”
“Who gave you the cake?” Arthur asked coldly. “Who insisted that you push Lily’s face into it in front of the staff?”
“Damon’s contact!” Victoria sobbed, pointing a shaking finger at the man on the cot. “Damon got a call two days ago! They said… they said if we humiliated Lily publicly and made her cry in front of the servants, it would trigger a clause in the family trust!”
Damon sat up painfully, his voice muffled by his swollen jaw. “The contract… the trust contract says if the heir shows signs of severe emotional instability or physical mistreatment before their seventh birthday, an independent medical guardian must be appointed!”
Arthur’s jaw tightened. “And who was appointed as the independent guardian?”
Victoria wiped her eyes, her voice barely a whisper. “A doctor from the Zurich clinic… Dr. Harrison Vance. He arrived in New York this morning.”
May you like
Arthur stood up so fast the wooden chair clattered to the floor.
Dr. Harrison Vance wasn't just a doctor. He was the man who had performed the autopsy on Arthur’s late son, Thomas, six years ago.
