Chapter 8 - The Price of Treason
"A misunderstanding?" I yelled, lunging forward and grabbing him viciously by the collar of his imported silk shirt.
"You ordered a hit on a defenseless baby, your own flesh and blood, so you could buy more sports cars!"
I threw him effortlessly against the custom drywall, my fists clenched so incredibly tight that my knuckles were bleeding into my palms.
Every single primitive instinct in my body screamed at me to end his miserable life right there in that lavish penthouse.
I raised my fist, ready to shatter his jaw and beat him until he stopped moving entirely.
But in that split second of blinding red rage, I suddenly thought of Emily's gentle face.
I remembered how she had acted with pure grace, immense courage, and selfless compassion in the face of my cruelty.
Zion did not need a convicted murderer for a father; he needed a strong, present, and moral protector.
I slowly let go of Richard's ruined shirt and took a large step back, breathing heavily as I regained my precious self-control.
"I am not going to kill you today, Richard, because you are not worth my soul," I said, straightening my posture.
At that exact moment, the penthouse doors swung open again, but this time it was a heavily armed SWAT team accompanied by local detectives.
My security team had prudently forwarded the recorded confession and all of Margaret's banking evidence directly to the police chief.
I watched in absolute silence as they aggressively threw my crying brother-in-law to the floor, placed him in heavy steel handcuffs, and read him his rights.
He screamed my name repeatedly, begging wildly for a mercy he never showed my son, but I simply turned my back to him.
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The vast empire I had built finally felt secure for the first time, because the hidden rot had been surgically cut out from the inside.
I confidently walked out into the cool, refreshing night air, feeling a massive, suffocating weight permanently lift off my weary shoulders.
