Chapter 13: Confession in the Dark
The old carriage house smelled of rusted iron, stale gasoline, and rotting hay. Dust motes danced in the pale beam of Julian's flashlight as we stepped across the threshold. In the far corner, trapped between an antique horse-drawn plow and a stack of weathered crates, cowered Arthur Vance—Marcus's chief legal fixer, his expensive charcoal suit ruined by mud and brambles.
Brutus stood three feet away from the trembling man, planted squarely on all four paws, his white fangs bared in a silent, unwavering threat. Every time Arthur made a twitching movement toward his pockets, the giant Cane Corso let out a low, vibrating growl that caused the man to press himself harder against the wooden wall.
"Don't move," Julian said, his voice dropping into a register so chillingly calm that even I shivered. He stepped into the light, his dark suit immaculate despite the pursuit. "You broke into a private residence, destroyed federal evidence, and vandalized personal property. That adds up to a decade in a federal penitentiary, Arthur."
"I was just following orders!" Arthur stammered, his eyes darting frantically between Julian and the slavering jaws of the dog. "Marcus said the estate was as good as liquidated! He said Moretti was never waking up!"
Julian pulled a digital voice recorder from his pocket and pressed record, holding it out like a microphone. "Say that again into the recorder, Arthur. Name the board members who signed off on the digitalis procurement. Name the accounts where the redirected foundation funds are currently being held."
"I—I can't! Marcus will kill me!"
Brutus took one heavy, deliberate step forward, his hot breath fogging in the cool night air just inches from Arthur's knee. The fixer let out a high-pitched squeak of pure terror and began sobbing openly.
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"Marcus will be sharing a cell with you by morning," Julian said smoothly, stepping closer. "Talk now, or I release the dog's collar. He hasn't had his evening exercise yet."
It took less than three minutes. Arthur spilled every detail, naming three corrupt board members, detailing the offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands, and confessing to the forgery of the board meeting minutes. As the wail of approaching police sirens echoed down the county road, Julian clicked off the recorder, pocketed the device, and looked down at the shivering man with quiet, utter contempt.
