Chapter 8 - The Negotiation
I answered the phone and put it on speaker so the Marshals could record every single word.
“Did Clara finish the job?” David asked smoothly, his voice dripping with arrogance.
“Clara is currently in federal custody for attempted domestic terrorism,” I replied coldly.
Dead silence stretched across the phone line.
For the first time, David realized his perfect, insulated world was rapidly falling apart.
“You think you are so smart, Anna,” he finally snarled, dropping the polite facade completely.
“I want to meet.”
“I have nothing to say to you, David.”
“You will want to hear this,” he insisted.
“I am sitting at the diner across from the hospital, and I have the original documents proving you had no knowledge of the offshore accounts.”
“If you come down here alone, I will sign them over to you, and you walk away clean.”
“And if I don't?” I challenged.
“Then I press a button on my phone, and all the cartel money gets routed directly into the charity fund your father runs for underprivileged children.”
“I will completely destroy the Chief Justice's legacy and send him to prison with us.”
He hung up the phone before I could respond.
I looked at the lead Marshal, who was already shaking his head firmly.
“Absolutely not, ma'am.”
“You are not leaving this secure floor to negotiate with a desperate criminal.”
“He will destroy my father,” I pleaded, pulling the IV line out of my arm despite the stinging pain.
“I have to go down there.”
The Marshal sighed heavily, knowing he couldn't legally restrain a conscious, consenting adult who wasn't under arrest.
“Fine,” the agent compromised.
“But you wear a wire, and we have snipers covering every single window of that diner.”
Twenty minutes later, I walked slowly across the freezing hospital parking lot wearing a heavy winter coat.
My stomach ached, but the baby was resting safely, giving me the strength to keep moving.
I walked into the empty, neon-lit diner and saw David sitting alone in a corner booth.
He looked exhausted, desperate, and incredibly dangerous.
I slid into the booth across from him, keeping my hands resting on the sticky table.
“Where are the documents?” I demanded, skipping the pleasantries.
David smirked and slid a manila folder across the table.
“Sign the divorce papers giving me full custody of the child when it is born, and the exoneration documents are yours.”
“You don't care about this baby, David,” I shot back.
“No, I don't,” he admitted freely, leaning closer.
“But a judge will never sentence a single father to prison if he is the sole provider for a newborn.”
“The baby is my get-out-of-jail-free card.”
I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my own piece of paper.
“I am not signing anything, David.”
“Because I already sent the IP logs to the FBI, and they raided your mother’s house ten minutes ago.”
David’s smug smile vanished, replaced by absolute panic.
“Sylvia is currently in handcuffs, singing like a bird about your cartel connections to save herself.”
David stared at me, his chest heaving as the reality of his total defeat finally set in.
He slowly reached into his jacket, and the Marshals listening through the wire instantly shouted in my ear to get down.
But David didn't pull out a gun.
May you like
He pulled out a single photograph and threw it onto the table.
“Did you ever wonder why a powerful man like your father let you marry a guy like me?” David whispered.
