Page 55 of His Verdict
It’s time I stopped being a liability he has to protect and started being an asset he cannot afford to lose.
It’s time I started thinking like a Sinclair.
The plan forms in my mind over the next two days, a cold, intricate piece of legal machinery. It's audacious. It's dangerous. It's wildly unethical. It is, in short, perfect.
The Feds have one real weapon: the witness who is telling them Arthur Vance’s death was a murder. That witness is corroborated by the terrified silence of the other three executives who were in that room. Those three men are the loose threads that could unravel everything. They are the weak point. I have to secure them. Not by threatening their lives—that’s Jasper’sblunt, brutal method. I have to bind them to us with something stronger than fear. I have to bind them with the law.
I spend a morning making four phone calls. My voice is calm, professional, authoritative. I call to schedule a mandatory, off-the-record briefing regarding the ongoing federal investigation. I give them a time and a place. The Rhapsody Lounge, a private room called The Nocturne. Tonight. Attendance is not optional. I can hear the fear in their voices, the panicked acquiescence. They will be there.
I don’t tell Jasper.
This is my move. My play. My declaration of independence. If it works, it solidifies my power. If it fails… Well. Failure is not an option.
That night, I am the first to arrive at The Nocturne. It’s a small, opulent space, all dark velvet, polished mahogany, and low, intimate lighting.
I choose a chair at the head of the small, round table. I am not a guest here. I am the host. I am in control.
Before I take my seat at the head of the round table, I retrieve a small, matte-black box from the inner pocket of my purse—a "welcome to the firm" gift from Jasper I'd never had occasion to use until now.
The device is no bigger than a deck of cards, with no lights or markings. It’s a professional-grade audio jammer. Paranoia is a survival trait in this world; a lesson I learned at the foot of a master.
I peel the backing from a small adhesive strip and press the box to the underside of the heavy mahogany table, rightin the center. It clings there, invisible unless someone were to crawl on the floor looking for it. A faint, almost imperceptible click is the only sound it makes as I activate it with a press of a recessed button.
It emits no noise, but I know it's flooding the room with a blanket of low-frequency static, a wall of white noise completely inaudible to the human ear but fatal to any digital microphone within twenty feet. Any recording made on a phone or a covert device will be nothing but useless, buzzing hiss.
I take my seat.
They trickle in one by one, three men in expensive suits that can’t hide the scent of their terror. Morrison, Chao, and Peterson. They look like ghosts, their faces pale and drawn, their eyes haunted by what they saw in that boardroom. They were once titans of industry. Now they are just witnesses. Pawns. They avoid my eyes, taking seats as far from me as possible, looking for all the world like students summoned to the principal's office.
I let the silence hang in the air for a full minute after the last one arrives, a heavy, suffocating blanket. I let them stew in their fear.
Finally, I speak. My voice is quiet, but it cuts through the silence like a scalpel.
“Thank you for coming.” I don’t smile. “I’m sure you’re all aware that the Department of Justice believes Arthur Vance was murdered. They believe this because one of your former colleagues has told them a story. A very dangerous, and very foolish, story.”
I let that sink in. I see them exchange nervous glances.
“The problem with this story,” I continue, leaning forward slightly, my hands folded on the table, “is that it will be his word against yours. All three of yours. An uncorroborated accusation from a disgruntled employee facing his own legal troubles is a weak foundation on which to build a federal case.”
Morrison, the oldest of the three, finally finds his voice. “What do you want?”
I offer them the first real smile I have felt in weeks. It is cold. It is predatory. It is all teeth.
“I want to offer you a better story. A true story,” I lie smoothly. “And a deal.”
I pause, holding their gazes, one by one. I have their complete, undivided attention.
“Here is what happened,” I say, my voice dropping into a conspiratorial hush. “You were all in a contentious, high-stakes negotiation with Mr. Vance. It became heated. The stress was immense. Tragically, Mr. Vance, a man of advanced age and poor health, suffered a massive coronary event. A heart attack. He died, right there in the boardroom. In the ensuing panic, a terrible decision was made. A decision to stage the scene as a car accident. Not to cover up a crime, but to protect the company. To prevent a catastrophic stock collapse before the Meridian deal was finalized.”
I watch their faces as the fiction settles over them. I see the flicker of understanding, the dawning horror, the terrified calculation in their eyes. I'm offering them a lie that is almost believable. A lie that turns them from witnesses to a murder into participants in a cover-up. A lesser crime. A survivable crime.
“This is the story you will all tell, under oath, should you be summoned to testify,” I state. It’s not a suggestion. It’s an order. “You will commit perjury. You will present a unified, unshakable front. Your stories will align perfectly, because my office will be preparing your depositions for you.”
Chao lets out a choked, incredulous laugh. “You’re insane. You want us to lie to the Feds? They’ll tear us apart.”
“They will tearoneof you apart,” I counter, my voice like ice. “They will not tear all four of us apart, telling the exact same story, especially when it’s backed by medical records my team will ‘discover’ detailing Mr. Vance’s pre-existing heart condition. The Feds will be left with a case that is, at best, a he-said, she-said. And they do not take weak cases to trial.”
I lean back in my chair, the picture of calm confidence. “That is what you will do for us. Now, here is what Mr. Wolfe will do for you.”