Chapter 5 - The Rat in the Corner
Hook: When the ship sinks, the rats don't just jump—they bite each other.
Armed with the basement recordings and the digital evidence, we launched a nationwide manhunt. Daniel had skipped bail the moment he realized the feds were tearing his house apart.
But a man like Daniel Voss doesn't survive long on the run. He was too addicted to luxury.
We found him three days later at a private airstrip in upstate New York, attempting to board a non-scheduled flight to a non-extradition country. He wasn't alone. Celeste was with him, but she wasn't smiling anymore. She was in handcuffs before he could even reach the tarmac, seized by tactical officers who had intercepted their vehicle.
"I didn't know!" Celeste screamed as she was dragged toward a police cruiser. "He told me she died of natural causes! He told me she was sick! He forced me to get those drives from the office! Please, I have nothing to do with murder!"
Daniel stood by the wing of the small plane, surrounded by federal agents with drawn weapons. The rain poured down on him, ruining his expensive suit, plastering his hair to his forehead. He looked wild, cornered, and entirely desperate.
I walked through the line of officers, stopping just a few feet from him. The wind was howling, but the silence between us was absolute.
"It's over, Daniel," I said, my voice steady. "We found the safe. We found the recorder. We know about the previous miscarriages. We know everything."
Daniel let out a shattered, hysterical laugh. "You think you won, Lena? You think sending me to prison brings her back? She died in that bed begging for help, and you weren't there. You were too busy playing cop!"
"I'm here now," I said softly. "And I'm the last face you're ever going to see as a free man."
He reached into his jacket pocket. The officers tightened their triggers. "Drop it!" Marcus yelled.
But Daniel didn't pull a gun. He pulled out a small, silver flask—the same one Maya had bought him for their first anniversary. He unscrewed the cap and raised it to his lips.
"If I'm going down," he whispered, "I'm going on my own terms."
He downed the liquid before anyone could stop him. Within seconds, his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed onto the wet tarmac, seizing violently. The compound he had used to kill my sister was the same one he had kept in his flask as a final escape route.
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The paramedics rushed in, pumping his chest, shoving tubes down his throat. I stood there, watching the rain wash his blood across the concrete. He wanted a dramatic exit. He wanted to escape justice.
But the universe had a very different plan for Daniel Voss.
