Chapter 3 - Blood and BallotsThe Travis County Precinct interrogation room was lit by a harsh, flickering fluorescent bulb.
Rebecca sat at the metal table, her designer cashmere sweater looking absurdly out of place in the gray, windowless room. Her hair was still immaculately styled, though she had managed to squeeze out a few strategic tears for the booking photo.
The door swung open, and instead of Detective Vance, a tall man in a tailored charcoal suit walked in.
Senator Greg Vance didn't look like a politician right now. He looked like a man who had just been handed a live grenade. His face was ash-gray, and the tablet in his hand was trembling slightly.
“Greg!” Rebecca gasped, immediately standing up and rushing toward him with her arms outstretched. “Thank God! You have to get me out of here. Thomas Moretti, he’s insane, he’s—why are you looking at me like that?”
Greg didn't flinch. He let her grab his lapels, but he didn't hug her back. Slowly, deliberately, he peeled her fingers away and stepped back.
“I just came from the hospital, Rebecca,” Greg said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. “I saw the medical reports. I saw the photographs of the basement.”
Rebecca’s face didn't panic. That was her fatal flaw. She thought she could talk her way out of it. Her features hardened into something sharp and venomous.
“Those kids were unmanageable,” she spat, dropping the grieving widow act entirely. “Ethan left me with nothing! The insurance payout was tied up, the house was underwater, and those brats were constant reminders of him! They cried all day! What was I supposed to do, Greg? Lock them up? It kept them quiet!”
She didn't realize the interrogation room recording light was blinking red. She didn't realize that Detective Vance—the actual detective, not her brother—was streaming the audio live to the DA’s office.
“You sick, cold-hearted bitch,” Greg whispered, raising a hand as if to strike her, then stopping himself. His political career was dead. Finished. Over in a single hour.
The heavy steel door banged open behind him.
I walked into the room.
The temperature in the small space dropped twenty degrees. Greg stepped aside instinctively, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and lingering familial shock. I didn't look at the senator. My eyes were locked entirely on Rebecca.
“You—” she hissed, baring her teeth like a cornered animal. “You ruined everything! Ethan told me about you! He said you were a monster!”
I stopped right in front of her. I didn't yell. I didn't raise my fist. I just leaned down until my face was inches from hers.
“Ethan was wrong about a lot of things,” I whispered softly, my voice cutting through the air like a razor. “He thought keeping me away from his kids was protection. He thought good people could reason with bad snakes like you.”
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I straightened up and pulled a heavy gold signet ring off my pinky finger, dropping it onto the metal table with a sharp clack.
“My brother’s blood runs in those kids’ veins,” I said, turning toward the door. “And you just signed your own death warrant. Not by my hand, Rebecca. The courts will take years. But in my world? In the dark? You’ll never sleep another night without wondering whose shadow is standing at the foot of your bed.”
