Chapter 16 - The Final Account|
Victor Vance gasped for air, his silk jacket ruined, his face pressed hard against the rug.
"Moretti..." Victor choked out, terror flooding his eyes. "You... you can't do this! I am an appellate judge! The federal marshals—"
"The federal marshals don't know you killed my father, Victor," Vincent said softly, stepping over the broken glass until he stood over the old man.
Vincent gestured to Paul, who dragged Victor up by his collar and threw him heavily into the leather armchair behind the desk.
Vincent tossed the open medical ledger directly onto the judge's lap.
Victor looked down at the red ink on the aged page. The color drained from his face until he looked like a corpse sitting in expensive silk.
"Dr. Mercer kept meticulous records, Victor," Vincent said, leaning over the desk, his hands resting on the wood. "September 14, 2018. Three milliliters of A-N in my father's butter. You bought his death for five million dollars."
"It... it was business, Vincent," Victor whimpered, his regal judicial composure shattering into pathetic cowardice. "Your father owned sixty percent of the deepwater shipping rights! The port authority would never approve the commercial expansion as long as a Moretti held the deeds!"
"So you poisoned him," Vincent whispered. "And then six years later, you sent your daughter into my house with the exact same bottle to finish the job on me."
"It was Julianna's idea!" Victor lied frantically, tears mixing with the sweat on his face. "She wanted the estate! She manipulated me!"
Vincent looked at the old man with an expression of pure, unadulterated disgust.
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"You sold your daughter to save yourself," Vincent said quietly. "And you murdered the man who called you a brother for thirty years."
Vincent pulled his nickel-plated Beretta from his coat.
