Chapter 8 - The Confrontation With Gretchen In The Holding Cells
The women’s federal holding facility on the outskirts of Seattle was a grim, utilitarian complex of gray concrete, reinforced steel doors, and flickering fluorescent lights.
I walked down the long, echoing corridor flanked by a female corrections officer, my heels clicking sharply against the polished linoleum floor.
In cell 402, sitting on a thin plastic mattress with her head buried in her hands, was Gretchen.
She looked a far cry from the glamorous, platinum-blonde executive assistant who had sipped Dom Pérignon on my patio just days ago.
Her makeup was smeared across her tear-stained cheeks, her designer Chanel dress was wrinkled and stained, and her hair hung in limp, greasy strands around her face.
As I stopped in front of the reinforced glass window, Gretchen looked up.
When her eyes landed on me, she scrambled backward like a terrified animal, pressing herself against the back concrete wall of the cell as if she were seeing a demon.
"No... no, stay away from me!" Gretchen whimpered, her voice cracking into a high-pitched shriek.
"You're dead! You're supposed to be dead!"
I signaled the corrections officer to unlock the heavy steel door, stepping slowly inside the cramped, windowless cell while the guard remained stationed at the threshold.
"Death is far too kind for someone like you, Gretchen," I said softly, my voice devoid of emotion, sounding more like a predator inspecting its trapped prey.
Gretchen trembled violently, her teeth chattering as she clutched her knees to her chest.
"I didn't mean to do it!" she sobbed, falling into immediate, pathetic self-preservation mode just like her lover.
"It was Brandon’s idea! He promised me the money! He said if we got rid of you, we’d be set for life! I just typed the emails... I didn't push you off the cliff!"
I crouched down slightly so I was eye-level with her, my gaze boring straight through her desperate, tear-stained facade.
"You helped him plan every single detail," I whispered, venom dripping from every syllable.
"You hacked the security cameras, you scouted the isolated trail in Glacier National Park, and you stood at the top of that ridge waiting to confirm whether my body had hit the bottom."
Gretchen burst into loud, hysterical tears, grabbing at the hem of my coat.
"Please, Eleanor! Have mercy! I'll testify against him! I'll tell the prosecutors everything they want to know about his secret accounts, his offshore funds, his drug use—everything!"
I pulled my coat away from her clutching fingers with a sharp, disgusted jerk, standing back up to my full height.
"You don't need to testify against him anymore, Gretchen," I replied coldly.
"Brandon already tried to pin the entire conspiracy entirely on you in the interrogation room next door."
Gretchen’s jaw dropped, her hysterical sobbing halting instantly as absolute betrayal washed over her features.
"He... he blamed me?" she whispered, her voice hollow and broken.
"Word for word," I confirmed with a cruel, thin smile.
"He told the federal agents that you were the mastermind, that you manipulated him into the insurance fraud, and that you practically forced him to take you on that trip."
A dark, venomous rage flashed across Gretchen’s tear-stained face, replacing her terror with pure, unadulterated hatred for the man she had conspired with.
"The lying bastard..." she hissed through clenched teeth, her fingernails digging deep into her own palms.
"He swore we were in this together."
"In the criminal underworld, there is no honor among thieves, Gretchen," I said, turning toward the open doorway.
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"Enjoy your twenty years in federal custody. Make sure to send my regards to Brandon when you pass him in the prison yard."
I stepped out of the cell, the heavy steel door slamming shut behind me with a loud, final CLANG that echoed down the desolate corridor like the tolling of a death bell.
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