Chapter 9 - The Confession of the Coward
Two hours after the courtroom chaos, I sat beside Detective Vance in the windowless observation room of the county detention facility.
Through the two-way mirror, Godfrey sat huddled at a steel interrogation table, wearing an oversized green inmate smock.
His designer clothes had been bagged into county evidence, his gold Omega wristwatch confiscated, and his pride entirely pulverized.
Across the table sat DA Catherine Bell and Detective Miller, their tape recorder spinning smoothly on the laminate surface.
Godfrey looked like a broken child, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs, his eyes swollen and bloodshot.
He hadn't lasted twenty minutes in a holding cell before begging the guards to let him speak to the prosecutors.
“Mr. Vance, your court-appointed attorney has advised you that anything you say can and will be used against you,” DA Bell stated clearly.
“I don't care! I want to talk! I’ll tell you everything, just promise me you won’t charge me with capital murder!” Godfrey blurted out frantically.
“I can’t survive in state prison! Those guys in the holding tank told me what they do to guys who abuse women!” he wept hysterically.
DA Bell exchanged a knowing, cold look with Detective Miller.
“We make no promises regarding sentencing, Godfrey,” DA Bell said firmly.
“Your level of cooperation will be noted in the official record for the sentencing judge, provided you provide full, unvarnished truth,” she added.
Godfrey took a frantic, shaking breath, wiping his face with both cuffed hands before leaning across the table.
“It was all Mom’s idea from the very beginning,” Godfrey began, his voice tumbling out in a torrent of treasonous confession.
“When Damian left for Germany, Mom realized that his direct paychecks were over three thousand dollars a month,” he explained.
“She told me that Damian was an uneducated factory grunt who didn't deserve that kind of money,” Godfrey revealed without hesitation.
Behind the glass, my hands tightened around the plastic edge of the counter, my knuckles turning bone white.
“She said that since Damian abandoned the family to chase foreign cash, the money rightfully belonged to her for raising him,” Godfrey continued.
“Then last autumn, Phoebe got the lymphoma diagnosis from the county health department,” he said, his voice trembling.
“Mom was furious. She said cancer was a black hole that would swallow every penny Damian sent home,” Godfrey admitted.
“She told me, ‘Why should we waste sixty thousand dollars on chemo for a girl who might die anyway?’” Godfrey quoted his own mother.
“What happened to the private health insurance?” Detective Miller asked, tapping his pen on the legal pad.
“Mom forged Damian’s name on the cancellation notice,” Godfrey confessed, nodding vigorously.
“She told the insurance carrier that Damian was moving the family to Europe and that they didn't need the policy anymore,” he explained.
“She pocketed the four-hundred-dollar monthly premium and put it straight into her luxury travel savings,” Godfrey said.
“And the tool shed?” DA Bell pressed, her voice hard as granite. “Who made the decision to lock Phoebe outside?”
Godfrey swallowed hard, his eyes darting away in profound shame.
“Mom said Phoebe was depressing to look at,” Godfrey whimpered.
“Phoebe was losing her hair from the first two rounds of chemo, and she was always crying in the living room,” he explained.
“Mom had her garden club over for tea every Tuesday, and she didn't want the neighbors asking uncomfortable questions,” Godfrey said.
“So Mom moved Phoebe’s clothes into the shed and told her that she was contagious,” he confessed.
“She told Phoebe that if she stepped into the main house without permission, she would tell Damian that Phoebe had taken a lover,” Godfrey said.
“What about the life insurance policy, Godfrey?” DA Bell asked, leaning forward until her face was inches from his.
Godfrey flinched, burying his face in his hands as a fresh wave of tears broke through.
“That was six months ago,” Godfrey choked out through his fingers.
“My auto shop was running out of operating cash because I lost two hundred grand trading meme coins on the internet,” he admitted.
“Mom came to the shop with a paperwork folder from an independent insurance broker downtown,” Godfrey said.
“She said, ‘Godfrey, that girl isn't going to make it through the winter without her medicine anyway,’” he recounted with chilling precision.
“‘If she’s going to die under our roof, we might as well make sure Damian’s sacrifice wasn't completely in vain,’” Selina had told him.
“Mom forged Phoebe’s signature on the medical declaration forms, and I used a fake notary stamp I bought off the dark web,” Godfrey confessed.
“We designated Apex Horizon Holdings as the primary beneficiary so the payout wouldn't pass through probate or family court,” he said.
“And what was the plan for when Damian returned from Hamburg?” Detective Miller asked.
Godfrey let out a miserable, broken laugh that carried pure self-loathing.
“We thought he wasn't coming back for another two years,” Godfrey whispered.
“Mom intercepted all of Damian’s letters from Germany, burning the ones that asked about Phoebe’s health,” he said.
“She told Phoebe that Damian had moved in with a German woman and had blocked our numbers,” Godfrey confessed.
“We thought... we thought Phoebe would die of natural complications before the first snowfall,” he admitted quietly.
“And then Damian would come home to a clean house, and we would tell him she passed away peacefully in the hospital,” Godfrey finished.
In the observation room, Detective Vance reached over and gently clicked off the audio monitor.
He looked at me with deep, sorrowful respect in his weathered eyes.
“That confession secures a first-degree attempted murder conviction against both of them, Damian,” Detective Vance said softly.
“Godfrey just handed us every piece of corroboration we need for the grand jury,” he added.
“They are looking at fifteen to twenty-five years in state prison without the possibility of early parole,” the detective confirmed.
I stood up from the observation chair, pulling my coat tighter around my shoulders.
“Make sure the indictments are airtight, Detective,” I said, walking toward the exit corridor.
May you like
“I have to go to the hospital,” I told him.
“My wife is waiting for me.”
