Chapter 16 - VICTOR’S CONFESSION
I almost didn’t go.
Then I remembered my father.
Not revenge.
Answer.
Victor lay in a guarded hospital room.
Oxygen tube.
Gray skin.
Still looking irritated by mortality.
A prosecutor sat nearby.
Recorder on the table.
Victor looked at me.
“You came.”
“For my father.”
He smiled weakly.
“Always the righteous answer.”
“No.”
“The honest one.”
The prosecutor began recording.
Victor confessed to ordering intimidation against my father.
He admitted sending Raymond Vane to force him off the road.
He claimed the intent was fear.
Not death.
I did not argue.
Victor admitted falsifying safety inspections.
Paying supervisors.
Pressuring Garrett Sr.
Then the prosecutor asked.
“Who made the final decision to keep Pier Nine operational?”
Victor looked toward the ceiling.
“Garrett.”
My chest tightened.
“Garrett Harwick Sr.?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Contract penalty.”
“How much?”
“Eight million.”
Three dead men.
Eight million dollars.
The prosecutor continued.
“Did Mr. Harwick understand there was a risk of catastrophic failure?”
Victor closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
That ended any remaining ambiguity.
Then Victor looked at me.
“Thomas came to me after the explosion.”
“I offered him money.”
“He spit on my shoe.”
I almost smiled.
“That sounds like him.”
“He said something.”
“What?”
Victor’s voice weakened.
“He said someday a person I considered beneath me would be the one I had to answer to.”
My throat tightened.
“He meant you?”
Victor looked at me.
“I thought he meant God.”
Despite everything, I laughed once.
Victor did too.
Then he coughed.
Hard.
The nurse stepped forward.
He raised one hand.
“Wait.”
He looked at me again.
“Your father was a nuisance.”
“Your father was dangerous.”
“Because he had evidence?”
Victor shook his head.
“Because he could lose everything and still think he had something left.”
I understood.
Dignity.
Victor never did.
The prosecutor asked.
“Anything else?”
Victor looked at me.
“Celeste.”
“What about her?”
“I taught her wrong.”
It was the closest thing to regret I ever heard from him.
“Did you order her to abuse staff?”
“No.”
“She learned that on her own.”
His eyes closed.
“I only taught her people were tools.”
Hours later, Victor survived surgery.
He would stand trial.
His confession was admissible.
And the man who spent twenty years hiding from my father’s truth finally put his own voice on the record.
That night, I returned to Harwick estate.
The reception hall was empty.
The marble floor had been cleaned.
No blood.
No bracelet.
No screaming.
Garrett stood where Celeste had fallen.
“You okay?”
I asked.
“No.”
“Good.”
He looked at me.
“Good?”
“Means you’re paying attention.”
He smiled.
Then became serious.
“The estate is changing.”
“How?”
“Staff contracts.”
“Independent HR.”
“Security access changes.”
“Anonymous complaints.”
“Real overtime.”
I nodded.
“Sounds expensive.”
May you like
He looked toward the staircase.
“So was silence.”
