Chapter 7 - THE DESTRUCTION OF CLAIRE
The arrest of Claire Vance, Julian Mercer, and Dr. Arthur Harrison made the front page of every major newspaper in New England within twenty-four hours.
The silver bolt, the encrypted USB drive, the swapped syringe, and the live audio recordings provided the District Attorney with an airtight case of attempted murder, conspiracy, and corporate fraud.
Two days after the library confrontation, I sat in the legal offices of Vance & Vance in downtown Boston—the independent firm I had hired to liquidate Julian’s former practice.
Claire sat across the glass table from me, wearing an orange orange jumpsuit, her wrists handcuffed to a steel ring anchored to the floor.
Her pristine blonde hair was greasy, her makeup was gone, and the icy, arrogant posture she had maintained for four years was entirely shattered.
"Michael," she wept, her tears smudging her hollow eyes. "Please... you have to tell the prosecutor it was all Julian. He manipulated me! He threatened to tell you about my past debts if I didn't help him!"
I looked at her across the table, feeling a strange, profound absence of emotion.
I didn't feel rage. I didn't feel hatred. I just felt an immense, quiet pity for a woman who had traded her soul for money she would never spend.
"Four seconds, Claire," I said quietly.
Claire blinked through her tears. "What?"
"When the chandelier dropped," I said, leaning forward. "When I was lying on that marble floor, bleeding out from a severed vein... I looked right at you. You stood at the bottom of the stairs, and you watched me bleed for four full seconds before you decided to scream."
Claire swallowed hard, her jaw trembling, unable to answer.
"You didn't care if I lived or died," I continued, my voice steady and cold. "You just wanted to make sure the performance looked believable for the guests. Elena didn't hesitate for a single second. She ran into the blood while you were calculating your inheritance."
"Michael, please!" she begged, slamming her handcuffed wrists against the table. "I loved you! I really loved you!"
May you like
"No, Claire," I said, standing up, pulling my coat over my shoulders. "You loved the Bennett name. You loved the estate. But you're going to spend the next twenty-five years in a state penitentiary with nothing but your own name to keep you warm."
I turned my back on her, walking out of the interrogation room, ignoring her frantic, hysterical screams echoing down the concrete hallway behind me.
