Chapter 7 - The Penthouse Confrontation
I absolutely refused to call the authorities until I caught Richard firmly in his own web of lies.
I forcefully instructed Margaret to call him on speakerphone while my tech team meticulously recorded the crystal-clear audio.
"Is the job finally done?" Richard's smooth, arrogant voice echoed loudly through the cold, damp warehouse.
"Yes, it is finished," Margaret lied flawlessly, her voice shaking only slightly under my intense, murderous gaze.
"The kid is gone, and Marcus is entirely distracted, blaming the whole thing on his incompetent new maid."
"Absolutely perfect," Richard laughed, a sinister sound that made every muscle in my body tense with the urge to commit extreme violence.
"Meet me at the downtown penthouse in exactly one hour to collect the rest of your offshore cash."
I left Margaret bound securely to the chair surrounded by my armed guards and drove like a maniac straight to his luxury penthouse.
When I brutally kicked his solid mahogany double doors open, Richard was calmly pouring himself a glass of insanely expensive scotch.
He jumped in terror, dropping the crystal glass, the amber liquid splashing wildly across his pristine white Persian rug.
"Marcus? What are you doing here?" he stammered nervously, his smug face draining of all natural color.
"Were you waiting for Margaret to arrive?" I asked quietly, stepping completely into the room and deliberately locking the heavy door behind me.
I pulled out my phone and played the pristine digital recording of his damning phone call, turning the volume all the way to maximum.
Richard scrambled backward in sheer panic, tripping violently over a glass coffee table and crashing hard onto the hardwood floor.
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"Marcus, please, you have to listen to me, it was a terrible misunderstanding!" he cried out pathetically, holding his hands up in defense.
I slowly took off my expensive suit jacket, preparing to dismantle the man who had tried to erase the last remaining piece of my dead wife.
