Chapter 4 - THE CONFESSION"D-David?" Mark stammered, scrambling backward until his spine slammed hard against a metal shelving unit. "You... you’re supposed to be in Germany! How... how are you here?"
I walked slowly into the room, my leather dress shoes clicking rhythmically against the floor. I didn't raise my voice. I didn't need to. The sheer menace radiating from my posture was enough to make Mark hyperventilate.
"A flight change, Mark," I said softly, coming to a halt a few feet away. I reached down, picked up a stack of hundred-dollar bills, and rubbed them between my fingers. "You seem to be enjoying my money. Last time I checked, fourteen thousand dollars was meant for infant formula, medical broth, and winter heating. Not for a shopping spree in South Beach."
"It... it was a loan!" Mark gasped, his eyes darting frantically toward the exit where Viktor stood blocking the doorway like a mountain of stone. "Your mother said... she said you wouldn't mind! Maya didn't need all that expensive medicine anyway! She’s just dramatic!"
Snap.
Before Mark could finish his sentence, I lunged forward, grabbing him by the collar of his expensive designer shirt and slamming him violently against the metal shelves. Metal bins rattled and crashed down around us.
"Say her name again," I whispered, my face inches from his. "Say my wife is dramatic while she lies in a hospital bed with a septic infection caused by your collective greed."
"I’m sorry! I’m sorry!" Mark cried, tears of pure terror leaking from his eyes. "It was your mother’s idea! She wanted to punish Maya for marrying into the family without a dowry! She told us to lock the thermostat, take the food, and hide the medication so Maya would be forced to crawl to her and beg for mercy!"
I released him with a disgusted shove, letting him collapse into a pathetic heap on the floor.
"Get up," I ordered.
"W-What are you going to do to me?"
"You're going to make a phone call," I said, pulling out my phone and dialing my mother’s cell number on speakerphone. "You’re going to tell her that Maya is dead."
Mark stared at me in absolute horror. "I... I can't do that!"
"You can," I replied, pressing the cold barrel of a suppressed pistol—hidden inside my coat pocket—against his temple. "Or you can join her in the morgue before sunrise. Choose."
The phone rang three times before a sharp, annoyed voice answered on the other end.
"Mark? What is it? We’re trying to sleep. Miami is amazing, and I don't want to be disturbed by peasant problems."
Mark swallowed hard, his voice trembling violently as he looked into my dead, unblinking eyes.
"M-Mom... it’s a disaster," Mark sobbed into the receiver. "Maya... Maya didn't survive the night. She’s gone. And... and David just walked into the apartment."
Silence fell over the line—a heavy, suffocating silence. Then, my mother’s voice dropped all pretense of sleep, turning shrill and panicked.
"What do you mean she's gone?! Is David there?! Did he find the safe?!"
May you like
I reached out, took the phone from Mark’s paralyzed hand, and brought it slowly to my mouth.
"Happy New Year, Mother," I whispered into the mic. "I found everything. Now, pack your bags. The flight back to New York leaves in three hours. And don't bother trying to run—because if you aren't on that plane, I will hunt you down before the sun rises."
