Chapter 6 - The Confession of Detective VanceThe bathroom door groaned under the weight of a heavy kick, but it held. Outside, the sharp, deafening cracks of a firefight erupted in the hallway—pistol fire mixed with the heavy thud of bodies slamming against the drywall.
Then, silence.
A heavy hand knocked twice on the bathroom door.
"Clara," Dominic’s voice called out, raspy and strained. "Open the door. It's over."
I waited a second, my heart hammering against my ribs, before sliding the heavy iron tub back an inch and turning the brass lock.
Dominic stood in the doorway, leaning heavily against the frame. His white dress shirt was soaked dark with blood near his left shoulder, and a deep laceration ran down his cheek. In his right hand, he held a smoking Glock. Behind him in the hallway, two operatives in black tactical gear lay motionless, while Detective Marcus Vance—disheveled, bleeding from the mouth, and stripped of his weapon—was held up by one of Dominic’s surviving guards.
"You're out of your depth, Dominic," Vance spat, coughing up a streak of dark blood onto the Persian rug. "The federal task force is five minutes away. When they breach these gates, they won't find a mafia boss—they'll find a black-site medical facility run by your own corporation. The boy is state property."
Dominic stepped closer, his face an expressionless mask of pure lethal intent. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"You killed my wife, Marcus," Dominic said softly. "You thought you could bury Apex Gen-Tech behind police badges and federal paperwork. But you forgot one thing."
Vance’s arrogant smirk faltered for a fraction of a second. "What's that?"
"My wife left a backup drive in our son's medical records," Dominic replied, leveling the barrel of his gun directly at Vance's chest. "And thirty seconds ago, my tech team uploaded every single file, financial transfer, and human trial log to every major news station and federal server in North America."
Vance’s face drained of all color. "You're insane. You just destroyed your own empire."
"I don't give a damn about the empire," Dominic whispered, pulling the trigger.
The gunshot echoed through the silent mansion like thunder. Vance crumpled to the floor, lifeless.
May you like
Dominic lowered the weapon, turning his dark, exhausted eyes toward me and Noah, who was peeking cautiously out from behind my legs.
"Pack your canvas tote, Clara," Dominic said quietly, blood dripping from his shoulder onto the hardwood floor. "The police are coming, but you and Tyler are going to need a very long vacation—and a top-tier medical team in Zurich."
