Chapter 7 - The concrete confession
The heavy steel doors of the freight elevator slammed open on the fiftieth floor. The sweeping, cinematic view of the city was completely overshadowed by the harsh, blinding security floodlights rigged to the ceiling. Camille and Edward Sterling stood shivering in the center of the vast, empty concrete floor. Camille’s silver gown was ruined, stained with dirty snow, the purple bruise on her cheek stark against her pale skin. Edward, a softer, less imposing version of his brother, was sweating profusely in his expensive suit despite the freezing temperature.
Richard walked out of the elevator. He had discarded his tuxedo jacket, his crisp white dress shirt rolled up to his thick forearms. He didn't look like a billionaire CEO. He looked like an apex predator who had cornered its prey.
“Richard, please, listen to me!” Edward instantly stammered, raising his hands in a pathetic gesture of surrender. His American accent pitched high with sheer panic. “Camille overreacted tonight, she’s been under tremendous stress. We can explain everything.” Richard didn't say a single word. He walked straight up to his older brother and drove his massive fist directly into Edward’s stomach.
The blow was utterly devastating. There was no blood, no graphic violence, just the sheer, crushing masculine force that folded Edward in half instantly. He collapsed to the raw concrete, gasping frantically for air, unable to speak. Camille screamed, backing away until she hit a cold steel pillar.
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“I dismantled your Swiss shell corporation ten minutes ago,” Richard stated flatly, looking down at his brother. “I have the wire transfers. You paid Dr. Thorne to fake the death of my child so you could secure the inheritance. You have exactly one minute to tell me why my daughter was starving on the street tonight instead of living in a safe house.”
Camille slid down the pillar, completely broken by the terrifying reality of her situation. “We didn't keep her alive!” Camille sobbed hysterically, pointing a trembling finger at her husband. “Edward wanted the company. We paid a private ambulance driver to take the baby from the hospital before you ever saw her. We paid him fifty thousand dollars to drop her in the freezing river. We thought she was dead, Richard! I swear to God!” Richard’s fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. They had ordered the murder of his newborn baby. But the driver had clearly taken the money and run, leaving the child with someone else. But who had taught Lucy the lullaby?
