Chapter 17 - The Confession of a Traitor
By midnight, the state police, federal investigators, and Nathaniel’s private security army had locked down the entire county highway. The severed brake line had been recovered, bagged, and analyzed on-site by forensic specialists.
The digital trail didn't lie. The tampering had been executed at a local repair shop in Nassau, funded by an offshore shell company directly linked to Victor Thorne—and, by extension, Jonathan Vance.
Nathaniel sat in the armored command SUV parked at the edge of the crash site, his face carved from ice. He didn't speak. He didn't blink. He simply dialed a private satellite number.
"Connect me to Jonathan," he instructed his head of security.
After three rings, the raspy, arrogant voice of his uncle answered. "Well, nephew. I heard there was an unfortunate vehicular accident upstate. Dreadful roads these days. Are the children—"
"You are a dead man, Jonathan," Nathaniel interrupted, his voice terrifyingly calm, devoid of any human warmth.
There was a brief pause on the line. "Language, Nathaniel. You can't prove a thing. Accidents happen to people who fly too close to the sun."
"I don't need to prove it to a court of law," Nathaniel said softly. "Within the next sixty seconds, every federal asset, every tax inspector, every maritime agency, and every cartel bounty hunter between here and the Caribbean will know your exact GPS coordinates. You have two hours to run, Uncle. After that, I won't even let them bury what's left of you."
May you like
The phone clicked dead.
Three days later, international news outlets reported that Jonathan Vance had been intercepted by federal marshals attempting to board an unregistered cargo flight out of the Bahamas, carrying forged passports and millions in bearer bonds. His empire was gone forever.
