Chapter 8 - THE RECORDING
The red and blue lights began flashing through the rusted cracks in the warehouse walls, painting the concrete in jagged strokes of panic.
Adrian slowly stood up, stepping back from Vanessa. He kept the gun aimed at the floor, his face an unreadable mask of stone. Legally, she had him boxed into a corner. He was Adrian Moretti. The police had been looking for a reason to put him away for a decade. Finding him standing over a bleeding man and a "terrified" woman was the golden ticket.
Vanessa sat up, dusting off her ruined dress. She looked at Leo, her eyes flashing with pure malice. “Come here, sweetheart. Mommy’s going to keep you safe.”
Leo shrank back against my legs, grabbing a handful of my skirt.
“He’s not going anywhere with you,” I said, my voice trembling but refusing to break.
“You’re a maid, Grace,” Vanessa spat, walking slowly toward the rusted door as the police tires screeched to a halt outside. “You don't get a say in how the world works. You just clean up the mess.”
“Drop the weapon!” a voice boomed from a megaphone outside. Heavy boots pounded against the pavement.
Adrian looked at me, a silent apology in his eyes. He was ready to take the fall to keep Leo safe.
But I wasn't going to let that happen.
I reached into my pocket with my left hand and pulled out my phone.
“You’re right, Vanessa,” I said loudly, my voice cutting through the noise. “I am a maid. Which means I see everything. And I hear everything.”
Vanessa stopped, turning to look at me, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face.
“When I was in the upstairs hallway earlier today,” I said, holding up the phone, “I didn't just walk into you and Michael by accident. I saw Michael first. He scared me. So before I turned the corner… I hit record on my voice memos.”
Vanessa’s face went chalk-white.
I unlocked my phone, cranked the volume to maximum, and pressed play.
The audio was crackly, filled with the rustle of my uniform, but the voices were unmistakable.
“...I want him dead, Michael.” Vanessa’s voice played from the tiny speaker.
“The boy or Adrian?” Michael’s voice asked.
“Both. Adrian first. Then I adopt the boy, take the ledger, and clear out the accounts. I did the heavy lifting twelve years ago when I cut Elias’s brakes. It’s your turn to get your hands dirty.”
The recording stopped.
The heavy metal doors of the warehouse were thrown open. A dozen tactical officers poured into the room, their assault rifles raised, the blinding glare of flashlights sweeping over us.
“Hands in the air! Nobody move!”
Vanessa immediately burst into hysterical tears. She pointed a shaking finger at Adrian. “Thank god you’re here! He shot that man! He tried to kill me and take my son!”
The lead detective, a grizzled man with a thick mustache, walked straight past Vanessa.
He didn't look at her. He walked up to Adrian.
“Mr. Moretti,” the detective said, nodding respectfully.
Vanessa’s tears instantly vanished. “What are you doing? Arrest him!”
“Adrian doesn't just own the politicians, Vanessa,” I said quietly. “He owns the commissioner.”
Adrian handed the detective the silver revolver Vanessa had used to shoot Michael. “She used this weapon to assault Michael Ferris. She also orchestrated the kidnapping of my nephew. I believe my housekeeper has the audio confession regarding the murder of my brother.”
The detective looked at me. I handed him my phone.
He listened to the file, his face hardening. He turned to his officers.
“Cuff her.”
Vanessa screamed as two officers grabbed her arms, wrenching them behind her back. “You can't do this! I am his mother! I have the paperwork!”
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“The judge who signed that paperwork works for me,” Adrian said coldly. “As of ten minutes ago, it’s void.”
Vanessa thrashed and spat curses as they dragged her out of the warehouse, her diamonds catching the flashing police lights one last time before she was swallowed by the back of a squad car.
