Chapter 7 - THE RECKONING
The hallway fell into a dead, suffocating silence.
Dale Hutchins slowly lowered the gun from Lydia’s head, his smile vanishing completely, replaced by a sudden, frantic sweat beading on his forehead. Even Celeste took an involuntary step back, her perfect composure cracking for the first time.
"Roland," Celeste said, her voice instantly shifting into a sweet, trembling treble of false innocence. "Darling... what are you doing out of your room? You shouldn't be wandering in the dark—"
"Shut your mouth, Celeste," Roland interrupted. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried the weight of absolute, crushing authority—the voice of the mafia boss who had ruled the Chicago underworld before a bullet stole his sight.
Roland stopped ten feet away from them. His sightless eyes were fixed directly on Celeste, as if he could see right through her soul.
"For six years," Roland said, every word dripping with cold venom, "I let you poison my food. I let you blind me. I let you isolate me from the world because I believed I was broken. Because I thought you were the only thing left of my life."
He took another slow step forward, the cane striking the floor with a rhythmic, deafening echo.
"And all the while, you were turning my home into a prison. You killed my grandmother. You had my doctors bought off. And you thought you could just sweep me under the rug and take everything."
Celeste’s face twisted into an ugly sneer, the mask of the loving wife completely shattering. "And what if I did, you blind bastard? Without me, you're nothing! You can't even cross a room without someone holding your hand! Who's going to believe a blind cripple over his devoted wife?"
Roland smiled. It wasn't a warm smile; it was the smile of a predator that had just cornered its prey.
"She doesn't have to prove anything to the police, Celeste," Roland said softly. "Because in the state of Illinois, murder and attempted corporate fraud recorded by security systems wired directly to my private server... tend to hold up quite well in court."
Dale panicked. With a desperate curse, he shoved Lydia aside, raised his gun, and aimed straight at Roland’s chest. "It ends here, you blind piece of—"
Before Dale could finish the sentence, Roland didn't even flinch. He raised the M1911 and fired with terrifying, flawless accuracy.
The deafening roar of the gunshot echoed through the mansion.
Dale let out a sharp gasp, his pistol clattering to the floor as he clutched his right shoulder, collapsing hard against the wall before sliding down into a pool of blood.
Celeste screamed, pressing her back against the wall, her hands shaking violently as she stared at Roland in absolute, unadulterated terror.
Roland lowered the smoking barrel of the gun, turning his blind gaze directly toward his wife.
"Bishop," Roland called out into the empty corridor.
From the shadows of the staircase, Bishop stepped out, looking calm, composed, and wearing his usual tailored suit. He didn't look at Celeste; he looked only at his boss.
May you like
"Yes, Mr. Sterling?" Bishop asked respectfully.
"Call federal authorities. Tell them we have a confession to a murder, corporate embezzlement, and a conspiracy against Sterling Enterprises," Roland ordered coldly. "And escort Mrs. Sterling to the basement holding cell. She won't be needing the master bedroom anymore."
