Chapter 4 - The Traitor's Price
The interrogation room at the Roundhouse—Philadelphia’s police headquarters—was cold and smelled of stale coffee and industrial disinfectant.
Vanessa Kensington sat at the metal table, her hands cuffed to a steel ring in the center. Her expensive silk blouse was stained with sweat, her hair disheveled, and her makeup smeared from hours of crying. The arrogance she had displayed on the courthouse steps had completely vanished, replaced by a raw, primal terror.
"I want to see Richard," she sobbed to her defense attorney, a sleek, expensive corporate lawyer named Marcus Vance. "Why isn't he here? Why hasn't he posted my bail?"
"Richard’s accounts are frozen, Vanessa," Marcus said, his voice tight. "The firm’s assets are under federal receivership. I am only here because of a retainer he paid last month, but to be frank, if we don't get you out of here today, my firm is going to withdraw from your case. We can't represent a client who can't pay."
"What?!" Vanessa gasped, her eyes widening. "But Richard promised! He said we were going to start a new life! He said the money was safe in Panama!"
"The money in Panama was seized three hours ago," a voice spoke from the doorway.
The heavy metal door opened, and Harrison Cole walked in. He didn't carry a briefcase. He didn't carry files. He simply stepped into the room and sat down in the chair opposite Vanessa, leaning forward with his hands clasped on the table.
Marcus Vance stood up immediately. "Cole! You have no right to be in here! My client is represented by counsel! This is a violation of—"
"Sit down, Marcus," Harrison said, not even looking at him. "Unless you want me to file a disciplinary complaint with the bar association regarding the three million dollars in 'unmarked cash' your firm received from Harrington Commercial Group's offshore account last Tuesday."
Marcus went completely pale. He slowly sat back down, his mouth closing shut.
Harrison turned his gaze back to Vanessa. He studied her for a long, agonizing minute, taking in her fear, her desperation, and her weakness.
"Do you know how long a human body takes to fall thirty steps, Vanessa?" Harrison asked, his voice conversational, almost academic. "It takes approximately four seconds. In those four seconds, my sister’s placenta detached from her uterine wall. Her skull fractured against the fifteenth step. Her left shoulder was dislocated on the twentieth."
"I... I didn't mean to," Vanessa whimpered, shaking her head. "She was arguing with me! She was trying to ruin my life! She was going to take Richard’s money!"
"No," Harrison said. "She was trying to protect her child. A child that is currently in a critical care incubator, fighting a severe brain hemorrhage because of the lack of oxygen during the fall."
Harrison reached into his pocket and pulled out a single sheet of paper, sliding it across the metal table toward her.
"What is this?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"That is a draft of the federal indictment for attempted murder, conspiracy to commit fraud, and international money laundering," Harrison said. "If you sign a confession stating that Richard Harrington instructed you to harass, intimidate, and eventually eliminate my sister to secure his corporate wealth, the District Attorney will agree to take the death penalty off the table if my niece does not survive the night."
Vanessa's breath caught in her throat. "The... the death penalty?"
"If my niece dies, Vanessa," Harrison said, his voice dropping into a low, lethal register that made the room feel twenty degrees colder, "I will personally ensure this case is prosecuted under the state's fetal homicide law. And in Pennsylvania, that carries a maximum sentence of lethal injection. Richard won't be in the cell next to you. He’ll be testifying against you to save his own skin."
"He... he wouldn't," she whispered, though the doubt in her eyes was blinding.
"He already is," Harrison lied smoothly, his face a perfect, unreadable mask. "His lawyers are already drafting a statement claiming that you were obsessed with him, that you embezzled the money from his company without his knowledge, and that you pushed Khloe because you were jealous of her pregnancy."
Vanessa stared at the paper. The memories of Richard’s whispers, his promises of a penthouse in New York and a life of luxury in Europe, began to dissolve, replaced by the terrifying image of a cold, sterile prison cell.
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"He told me to do it," she whispered, a tear escaping her eye and rolling down her cheek. "He didn't say to push her down the stairs, but he said... he said he wished she would just disappear. He said if she lost the baby, the divorce would be simple. He told me to make her stressed. He told me to push her limits."
"I need names, dates, and account numbers, Vanessa," Harrison said, sliding a pen toward her. "And I need them now."
