Chapter 7 - The Confrontation
She fought like a wildcat. She clawed at my eyes, her perfectly manicured nails tearing a gash across my cheek. I pinned her wrists to the ground, my knee pressing heavily into her chest, knocking the wind out of her.
"Get off me!" she shrieked, all pretense of the loving wife entirely gone. Her face was contorted in pure, ugly rage. "You're nothing! You were just a paycheck!"
"Where did you get her?" I demanded, pressing the barrel of the Glock against her forehead. "Where did you get Emily?"
Claire laughed, spitting a mixture of rain and blood into my face. "I told Evelyn you were soft! You don't even care about the money, do you? You just care about that little mutt."
"Tell me!" I screamed, the safety clicking off.
"A meth clinic in Portland!" she yelled back. "Her mother was dead in a bathroom. The dealer wanted fifty bucks for the kid. I gave him a hundred. She was a prop, Arthur! A blank slate to make you trust me! And it worked. You fell for it completely. You played house with a phantom."
The disgust I felt for her was profound. It wasn't just anger; it was a deep, visceral revulsion. She wasn't human. She was a parasite that fed on empathy and love.
Behind me, the sound of gunfire ceased. Marcus emerged from the shadows, limping slightly, holding his side, but both of the private security guards were unconscious on the ground.
"Cops are three minutes out," Marcus panted, tossing his empty magazine onto the tarmac. "We need to go, Arthur. We leave her for the feds."
"No!" Claire screamed, struggling frantically. "If they arrest me, they take the money! They take everything!"
"You have nothing," I said coldly, standing up and pulling her to her feet by her hair. I shoved her hard against the side of the airplane. "Your mother gave you up. Your hitman is dead. Your shell accounts are frozen."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small black USB drive. Marcus had copied all the offshore account routing numbers.
"Marcus drained your Caymans account an hour ago," I lied. The truth was, the FBI had frozen it, but I wanted her to feel the despair. "You're broke, Sarah. And you're going to spend the rest of your life in a federal supermax."
The sirens began to wail in the distance, a chorus of justice screaming through the Savannah night.
May you like
Claire's face crumbled. The mask of arrogance shattered, leaving behind a pathetic, terrified woman. She fell to her knees in the puddles of aviation fuel, sobbing uncontrollably.
I didn't feel an ounce of pity. I turned my back and walked away.
