Chapter 5 - The Confession in the Dark
The lightning flashed across the tall windows, illuminating Uncle Victor’s face with a harsh, blue-white glare. He didn't look like a terrified fugitive caught in a trap; he looked like a man who had been expecting this exact moment for eighteen years and had rehearsed every line.
Marco didn't draw a weapon. He didn't shout. He simply walked toward his uncle with a slow, deliberate cadence that made the air in the room feel dangerously thin.
"You killed my father," Marco said, his voice barely above a whisper, yet carrying the crushing weight of an impending avalanche.
Victor took another calm sip of his whiskey, his eyes shifting from Marco to the torn leather chair behind him. "Your father was a stubborn, short-sighted fool, Marco. He thought he could run this family with nineteenth-century morals in a twenty-first-century world. He wanted to split the shipping ports with Samuel. Can you imagine? Giving half our livelihood to a ghost hiding out in Canada?"
"Samuel is alive," Marco said, watching his uncle's face for any sign of cracking.
For a split second—just a fraction of a second—Victor’s composure flickered. His fingers tightened around the crystal glass until his knuckles turned white. But then the smooth, chilling smile returned.
"Ah. So the old bastard finally crawled out from under his rock," Victor murmured, shaking his head. "I should have finished the job on that ferry. Some men just don't know when they're dead."
"You murdered him," Marco repeated, stepping within arm's reach of his uncle. "And then you waited eighteen years, sitting at my dinner table, smiling at my daughter, while you rigged that chair to do the exact same thing to me."
"Murder?" Victor scoffed, his tone dripping with arrogant condescension. "Please, Marco. Let's call it what it was. A corporate restructuring. Your father sat in that chair because he refused to step down. You sat in that chair because you refused to listen. Technology evolves, nephew. Eighteen years ago, I had to use a simple heavy-duty medical magnet hidden in the upholstery to stop a weak ticker. Tonight... well, let's just say I didn't need to touch the chair at all."
My nursing instincts screamed a silent, terrifying warning.
Tonight... I didn't need to touch the chair at all.
"Marco," I yelled, lunging forward. "Get away from him!"
It was too late.
Victor reached into his pocket, his thumb pressing hard against a small, black remote control device.
May you like
A sharp, high-pitched electronic whine pierced the room—not coming from the chair this time, but from somewhere deep inside the walls.
Marco stumbled forward, his hand flying to his chest as his knees buckled.
