Chapter 8 - The Downfall of Victor Vance
While I rested under the watchful care of the hospital staff, the legal machinery set in motion by Marcus Thorne and his top-tier corporate legal team was working with the terrifying efficiency of a guillotine.
Victor Vance had expected to wake up in a luxury penthouse, sipping champagne while waiting for the life insurance payout to clear his debts and fund a fresh start with his mistress.
Instead, he woke up on a stainless-steel bunk in a holding cell at the Cook County Department of Corrections, dressed in standard-issue orange jumpsuit number 488219.
The interrogation room was cold, sterile, and windowless, smelling faintly of stale coffee and industrial disinfectant.
Detective Miller and a federal prosecutor sat across the metal table from him, their expressions carved out of stone.
"I want my lawyer," Victor stammered, his hair disheveled, his expensive silk tie replaced by a paper collar, looking every bit the desperate, cornered rat he truly was. "You have no grounds to hold me! This is an illegal detention! My wife died in a tragic industrial accident—"
"Your wife didn't die, Mr. Vance," Detective Miller interrupted smoothly, sliding a thick manila folder across the table and opening it up.
Victor blinked, his color draining rapidly as he stared down at the photographs spread out before him: high-resolution images of me sitting in the hospital bed holding our newborn twins, wrapped in thermal blankets, flanked by smiling nurses.
"That's... that's impossible," Victor choked out, his hands beginning to shake. "The freezer... the temperature was set to minus fifty. She was supposed to—"
"She was supposed to freeze to death so you could collect a two-million-dollar insurance payout to clear your underground gambling debts with Marcus Thorne's former creditors," the federal prosecutor cut in, his voice ringing with cold authority. "Unfortunately for you, Mr. Thorne arrived on the scene slightly ahead of schedule. And even more unfortunately for you, our forensic IT experts managed to recover every single text message, offshore bank transfer, and voice memo stored on your cloud drive."
The prosecutor leaned forward, resting his hands flat on the table.
"You didn't just commit insurance fraud, Victor. You attempted first-degree premeditated murder of your pregnant wife and two unborn children. Furthermore, because the industrial freezer was located on federal enterprise zone property, federal jurisdiction applies."
Victor slumped back in his chair, the last remaining traces of his arrogant bravado completely shattering into dust.
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"Life without parole," Victor whispered, his voice cracking into a pathetic whimper. "You can't... please, my business... my reputation—"
"Your reputation was incinerated the moment you locked a mother in a meat locker," Detective Miller said, standing up and snapping his folder shut. "Enjoy your new accommodations, Mr. Vance. You're going to have a lot of time to think about the cold."
