Chapter 8 - The Confession
"He didn't do it," Donovan whispered to the concrete pier, tears streaming down his bruised face. "He left me to die."
Elias looked down at the pathetic shell of the man who had once ruled Palm Beach. There was no joy in Elias’s eyes, only the cold satisfaction of absolute justice.
"Viktor," Elias said, turning to the Russian. "Leave him to me. The feds will seize Julian's accounts by tomorrow anyway, and you’ll get your cut from the asset liquidation."
Volkov nodded, turning away with his men. "Do what you will, Elias. He is garbage."
Elias grabbed Donovan by the collar of his ruined linen suit and dragged him toward a rusty, abandoned warehouse at the edge of the pier. Inside, a single floodlight illuminated a tripod holding a high-definition camera.
Elias threw Donovan into a metal chair.
"What is this?" Donovan coughed.
"This is the end of the illusion," Elias said, hitting the record button. A red light blinked to life. "Look at the lens, Donny. You’re live on every major social media platform. My tech guys just hijacked your company's corporate accounts."
Donovan looked at the lens. He saw his own reflection in the glass—beaten, filthy, and ruined.
"Tell them the truth," Elias commanded. "Tell them how you built your empire. Tell them about the bribes, the fake ledgers, the stolen pensions. Leave nothing out."
"And if I don't?" Donovan asked, his voice hollow.
May you like
Elias placed the suppressed pistol on the table. "Then I leave you here, and Volkov’s men will return in ten minutes. The choice is yours. Public ruin, or a shallow grave in the Everglades."
With the red light blinking like an unblinking eye, Donovan Cross broke. For two hours, he spilled every dark, twisted secret of his career. He admitted to the Ponzi scheme. He admitted to framing Elias. He destroyed his own legacy, word by agonizing word, in front of millions of live viewers.
