Chapter 7 - The Unraveling
Arthur Vance stepped forward, his eyes wide with shock. “Genevieve! My God, child! They told us you had a breakdown... they said you were missing!”
“I was not missing, Arthur,” Genevieve said, walking steadily toward the head of the table. “I was escaping from the men who murdered my father.”
Gasps echoed across the room. The board members turned to look at Preston and Judge Whitmore in utter disbelief.
“She’s insane!” Preston shouted, pointing a trembling finger at her. “Look at who she’s with! She’s standing next to Gabriel Navarro! He’s a criminal! He’s coerced her!”
“Shut your mouth, Preston,” Gabriel said softly. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a lethal weight that made Preston instantly snap his jaw shut.
Gabriel walked to the center of the conference table, pulled the small velvet pouch from his breast pocket, and tipped it over the polished wood.
The yellow canary diamond ring set with two emeralds tumbled across the table, spinning twice before coming to a stop directly in front of Arthur Vance.
Arthur frowned, picking up the heavy ring. “What is this?”
“That,” Gabriel said, staring directly into Judge Harrison Whitmore’s terror-stricken eyes, “is the engagement ring Preston Whitmore gave to Genevieve six months ago. It was stolen from the body of my sister, Clara Navarro, nine years ago in Atlantic City.”
Judge Whitmore’s lips trembled. “That... that is an absurdity! That ring was bought at an auction—”
“That ring was listed in the evidence locker of the Atlantic City Police Department on October 14th, nine years ago,” Gabriel interrupted smoothly. “An evidence locker that you personally ordered cleared before you were appointed to the federal bench.”
Gabriel pulled a stack of certified police records and forensic photographic logs from his coat, tossing them onto the table.
“And this,” Genevieve added, pulling her father’s gold watch from her pocket and setting it beside the ring, “is the watch my father was wearing when Preston’s mechanic cut the brake lines on his vehicle in Newark eight months ago.”
Preston took a frantic step backward, his back hitting the glass doors leading to the balcony. “You have no proof! You can't prove any of this!”
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“I don't need to prove it to you, Preston,” Genevieve said coldly. “I proved it to the state prosecutor thirty minutes ago.”
The heavy sound of police sirens echoed up the long driveway outside the estate, their red and blue lights cutting through the heavy rain outside the stained-glass windows.
