Chapter 8 - The Trap at the Hospital
Dominic never entered the hospital.
That was the first clue.
The second was the photograph itself.
Nathan’s team examined the metadata and discovered it had been taken four hours earlier.
Dominic wanted us looking at the hospital.
Which meant he wanted us looking away from somewhere else.
“Your house,” Nathan said.
My safe.
Daniel’s remaining papers.
Federal agents reached my home before Dominic did.
They found a man attempting to enter through the rear garden.
Not Dominic.
His attorney.
That arrest broke the final wall.
The attorney requested immunity and told investigators Dominic planned to leave the country from a private cargo terminal within twenty-four hours.
But he also gave them something unexpected.
Dominic had not ordered the hospital threat.
Raymond had.
His own father had used Dominic’s phone credentials from custody through a corrupt corrections contractor.
“Why?” Clara asked.
We were in her hospital room.
Baby Danielle slept against her chest.
Nathan answered.
“Raymond wants Dominic caught.”
Clara stared.
“His own son?”
“Dominic has access to accounts Raymond wants.”
I almost admired the ugliness of it.
Almost.
Raymond had built an empire where everyone was disposable.
Even family.
Especially family.
At noon, Dominic called Clara directly.
Nathan traced the call while Clara answered.
“You threatened my daughter.”
“I didn’t.”
“You expect me to believe you?”
“No.”
His voice sounded exhausted.
For the first time, the polished confidence was gone.
“My father did.”
“Why are you calling?”
“I want a deal.”
Clara laughed.
“With me?”
“With your mother.”
I took the phone.
“No.”
“Victoria—”
“Judge Sterling.”
Nathan almost smiled.
Dominic exhaled.
“Raymond will bury everyone. Hale. Peter. Me. Maybe you.”
“You’re confusing me with someone who negotiates criminal cases from maternity wards.”
“I have the original murder recording.”
My body went still.
“What recording?”
“The crash.”
Clara looked at me.
Dominic continued.
“My father recorded everything important. Insurance.”
“Where?”
“I’ll trade it.”
“For?”
“Safe passage.”
“No.”
“You didn’t even think about it.”
“I don’t control prosecution agreements, and even if I did, I wouldn’t bargain outside lawful channels.”
“You want Daniel’s final minutes?”
I closed my eyes.
More than I wanted to admit.
But grief was exactly the lever men like Dominic used.
“You can give it to your attorney.”
“My attorney is in custody.”
“That sounds inconvenient.”
Clara covered a laugh.
Dominic went silent.
Then he said:
“You were always colder than Clara.”
“No. I simply learned earlier that men like you call women cold when fear stops working.”
I disconnected.
Nathan stared at me.
“I may have enjoyed that.”
“You’re federal law enforcement.”
“I enjoyed it professionally.”
The trace worked.
Dominic was at the old Ward yacht club.
Agents surrounded it within thirty minutes.
But Dominic had anticipated them.
He escaped by boat.
What he didn’t anticipate was Clara.
She knew where he would go.
“The lighthouse.”
Nathan looked at her.
“What lighthouse?”
“Cape Mercer. His mother used to take him there.”
“Why there?”
“He told me once it was the only place his father never followed him.”
A Coast Guard unit intercepted Dominic’s boat six miles offshore.
He turned back toward Cape Mercer.
By sunset, federal agents had surrounded the abandoned lighthouse.
Nathan went inside with the arrest team.
I remained at command.
This time, willingly.
I had learned something.
My place did not always need to be closest to the danger.
Twenty-three minutes later, gunfire echoed.
Then silence.
My heart pounded.
The radio crackled.
“Suspect in custody.”
I closed my eyes.
Nathan emerged with Dominic in handcuffs.
For the first time since I had known him, my son-in-law looked ordinary.
Wet.
Exhausted.
Terrified.
He saw me.
“Victoria.”
I said nothing.
“You think this ends with me?”
“No.”
He smiled faintly.
“Good.”
Agents moved him past me.
Then he stopped.
“I did love her.”
I looked at him.
“No.”
His expression hardened.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“You’re right.”
I stepped closer.
“Clara does.”
He looked away.
“And she already did.”
They placed him in the vehicle.
Nathan came toward me.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
He had blood on his sleeve.
“Are you?”
“Not mine.”
I stared at him.
“You have a troubling habit of saying that.”
He smiled.
Then he handed me an evidence bag.
Inside was a small digital recorder.
“Dominic had it.”
Daniel’s crash.
I could listen.
For eleven years, I had wondered whether my husband had suffered.
Now I could know.
I held the recorder for several seconds.
Then gave it back.
Nathan looked surprised.
“You don’t want to hear it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Daniel’s last minutes aren’t the part of him I want to keep.”
Nathan’s expression softened.
I looked toward the ocean.
For the first time since midnight on my porch, I felt something close to peace.
Then Nathan’s phone rang.
He listened.
His face tightened.
“What?”
“Dominic is talking.”
“That’s good.”
“No.”
Nathan looked toward the vehicle carrying him away.
“He says Peter wasn’t the only person in your family working for Raymond.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who?”
May you like
Nathan hesitated.
“Clara.”
