Chapter 18 - The False Victory
Victor’s arrest dominated the news.
For forty-eight hours, Chicago celebrated.
Then the counterattack began.
A judge ruled several warrants improperly executed.
A police commander claimed the evidence had been fabricated.
Two witnesses disappeared.
One federal agent was suspended.
SAINT was protecting itself.
Victor appeared in court wearing a perfect suit.
He smiled at me.
That smile told me he expected to walk away.
Nolan survived surgery.
When investigators asked whether he would testify, he refused.
“I’ll be killed.”
Rebecca looked at me.
Without Nolan, proving Victor had ordered the surveillance and abuse scheme became harder.
I went to see him.
He looked smaller in the hospital bed.
Not harmless.
Just smaller.
“I’m not asking you to do this for me.”
He looked away.
“Then why are you here?”
“Because you spent two years telling me fear was a reason to obey you.”
He flinched.
“And now you’re doing the same thing.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
He stared at me.
I continued.
“You told me I was weak.”
“I know.”
“You called me unstable.”
“I know.”
“You made me believe surviving you was the same as loving you.”
His eyes filled.
“I know.”
I stepped closer.
“So now you get to decide what kind of man you are when fear belongs to you.”
I left.
The next morning, Nolan signed a cooperation agreement.
He gave prosecutors recordings.
Emails.
Account numbers.
Names.
He admitted everything he had done to me.
No excuses.
No requests for forgiveness.
That mattered.
It did not erase anything.
At noon, SAINT’s banking network was frozen.
By evening, three officials resigned.
The following morning, Victor was denied bail.
Everyone called it a victory.
Then Dante received a package.
Inside was a photograph of Gabriel leaving the hospital.
A red circle had been drawn around his head.
The message beneath it said:
SAINT DOES NOT NEED VICTOR.
Dante stared at the note.
I stared at the handwriting.
I had seen it before.
On birthday cards.
Christmas presents.
Letters sent after my father died.
The handwriting belonged to the woman who had raised me after both my parents disappeared.
My Aunt Catherine.
May you like
The woman we buried six years ago.
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