Chapter 8 - The Confrontation
An hour later, inside a private holding office beneath the opera house, Mark Tanner sat handcuffed to a heavy oak chair. His waiter’s jacket was torn, his hair disheveled, and his face slick with sweat.
Dante stood near the locked door, his arms crossed over his chest, while I sat in an armchair across from the man I had loved for two years.
“Eliza...” Mark gasped, his voice raspy and desperate. “Please... tell him! Tell him you have the drive! Tell him I left it in the hollow base of the floor lamp in your apartment!”
I stared at him, feeling a sudden, profound emptiness in my chest.
He hadn't left the drive with me to protect me. He had hidden it in my home so that if he were caught, he could trade my safety and my apartment to buy his own life back.
“You put a bomb in my home, Mark,” I said softly, my voice devoid of any warmth. “You hid stolen data in my apartment, knowing dangerous men would come searching for it.”
“I did it for us!” Mark pleaded, tears streaming down his face. “I was going to come back for you! We could have had millions in South America!”
“You didn't even check to see if I was alive after you fled,” I said, resting my hand over my stomach. “You used me as bait.”
Dante stepped forward, setting a small black velvet box onto the desk. He opened it, revealing the encrypted drive that his men had already retrieved from my apartment fifteen minutes earlier while we were at the gala.
“Your game is over, Tanner,” Dante said coldly. “The federal authorities have already received an anonymous tip regarding your offshore accounts in Panama. By morning, you will be in federal custody.”
Mark’s face went dead white. “Federal custody? Moretti’s men will kill me in prison!”
“Then I suggest you hire a very good lawyer,” Dante said flatly.
He motioned to his men, who unbolted Mark’s chair and hauled the weeping man out through the back exit toward a waiting police transport.
I sat alone in the quiet room, staring at the floorboards, feeling the massive shock of the last twenty-four hours finally settled into a quiet, still reality.
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Dante walked over to my chair, kneeling down on one knee beside me so that his eyes were level with mine.
“It is over, Eliza,” he said softly, his deep voice carrying a strange, gentle warmth. “Mark will never threaten you or your child again.”
