Chapter 18 - The Choice of Justice
The fluorescent light buzzed quietly above the steel chair as three men and one woman stood at the absolute crossroads of retribution and justice.
Gabriel looked down at Clara, his dark eyes shining with profound, unshakeable respect.
“The choice is entirely yours, Clara,” Gabriel said softly, his voice meant only for her ears. “If you want me to hand this folder to my contacts in the United States Attorney’s Office, Marcus Thorne will be arrested by federal marshals before noon. He will be publicly stripped of his name, indicted on thirty felony counts, and spend the next twenty-five years in a federal penitentiary in Colorado without a single friend or dollar to his name.”
Gabriel paused, his gaze darkening slightly as he glanced toward the industrial floor drain three feet away from the chair.
“Or,” Gabriel continued softly, “if you feel that the legal system is too kind to a man who put his hands on your throat... Paulie and Dante can take him down to the deep-water channel right now. Nobody will ever look for him. Nobody will ever ask a question. You give the word, and he ceases to exist on this earth forever.”
In the steel chair, Marcus Thorne violently thrashed against the nylon straps, screaming in absolute, primal terror. “Clara! Please! God, Clara, don't let him kill me! We lived together! We were engaged! Please send me to prison! I’ll plead guilty! I’ll sign whatever you want! Just don't let them kill me!”
Clara didn't look at the floor drain, nor did she look at the enforcers waiting by the door. She stepped forward until she was standing two feet away from the trembling, weeping wreck of the man who had once made her feel like she was nothing.
She looked at his bloodshot eyes, his broken nose, his absolute, pathetic cowardice when stripped of his corporate money and physical dominance.
She realized, with a sudden, brilliant rush of emotional freedom, that she felt zero hatred for Marcus Thorne anymore. Hatred required energy; hatred required caring about his existence. To Clara, Marcus Thorne had become entirely irrelevant—a tiny, insignificant shadow that had dissolved in the sunlight of her new life.
She reached out, taking the heavy federal legal dossier off Marcus’s lap, holding it securely against her chest.
“I spent three years thinking you were a strong man, Marcus,” Clara said, her voice rich with melodic, unbreakable dignity. “But you’re just a weak, sad little bully who has to break things to feel tall. If I let Gabriel kill you today, I would be letting you turn me into a killer. I would be letting you take away my humanity. And you don't get to take one more single thing away from me.”
She turned to Gabriel, handing the dossier into his waiting palms with a serene, radiant smile.
“Send him to federal prison, Gabriel,” Clara declared clearly. “Let him sit in a concrete cell for twenty-five years with no money, no suits, and no power, watching on the news while the women he tried to destroy build beautiful, loud, wonderful lives without him.”
May you like
Gabriel’s lips curved into a proud, breathtaking smile that illuminated his entire dark face. He took the folder, nodding once to Paulie and Dante.
“You heard the lady,” Gabriel ordered as the enforcers stepped forward to unstrap the weeping lawyer for federal transport. “Deliver Mr. Thorne and the evidence to the steps of the federal courthouse on Northern Avenue. Let the US Marshals handle the garbage disposal.”
