Chapter 7 - THE CONFESSION
The crack of breaking bone echoed through the hangar before anyone could react.
Nathan caught Victor’s wrist, twisting it 180 degrees with brutal efficiency. Victor howled in agony as his snub-nosed revolver clattered to the concrete floor.
Nathan didn't stop. He drove a knee straight into Victor’s solar plexus, sweeping his legs out and pinning his brother-in-law to the floor with a heavy combat boot pressed against his throat.
"Nathan! Don't!" Senator Sterling gasped, backing against the wall with his hands raised. "Turn him over to federal authorities! We can prosecute him for conspiracy and attempted murder!"
"In my world, Senator, we don't outsource justice," Nathan growled, applying just enough pressure on Victor's trachea to cut off speech without crushing the cartilage.
"Talk, Victor," Nathan commanded. "Tell me every doctor you paid off. Tell me every chemist who supplied the thallium compound. Tell me who else in this room helped you."
Victor choked, his face turning a deep crimson. "Nobody... nobody else here. Just me and Ashford. And the Castigliones promised... fifty million... to clear your supply lines once you broke."
"Where is the master batch of the aerosol compound?" I asked, stepping up beside Nathan. "Marcus and Mason need the exact chemical formulation so the toxicologists can design a permanent chelation therapy."
Victor wheezed out a ragged, hateful laugh. "It’s gone. Ashford destroyed the primary synthesis logs. You saved them today, Nathan... but without the binding formula, their organs will fail in sixty days anyway. You lost."
I knelt down beside the gasping man, pulling a pair of medical forceps and a small ultraviolet light from my pouch.
"He's lying," I said calmly. "Thallium synthesis of this grade requires a stabilized organophosphorus base. There are only two chemical laboratories on the Eastern Seaboard with the centrifuges capable of refining it without triggering federal environmental sensors."
I clicked the UV light, shining it over Victor’s expensive leather cuffs.
A faint, luminescent greenish residue glowed along his right sleeve.
"Blackthorn Chemical in New Haven," I said, looking up at Nathan. "He visited the facility within the last forty-eight hours. The formulation and the antidote batch are stored in their clean room."
Nathan looked down at his brother-in-law with pure disgust.
"Roman," Nathan said.
"Yes, Boss."
"Put Victor in the cold storage container. Let him reflect on what happens to men who hurt children."
Two enforcers hoisted Victor up, ignoring his screams and curses as they dragged him into the darkness of the dry dock.
Nathan turned to Valetti and Sterling. "You two have five hours to liquidate every asset tied to Vance Maritime and transfer the capital into my sons' medical trust. If a single penny is missing, you join Victor."
"Understood, Nathan," Valetti stammered, bowing his head before rushing out of the hangar.
Nathan stood in the center of the vast floor, looking at me. The adrenaline of the fight had cleared, leaving only the crushing weight of a father fighting against the clock.
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"Blackthorn Chemical is a fortress," Nathan said. "The Castigliones have thirty armed mercenaries guarding that facility. We have four hours before sunrise."
"Then we don't go in as an army," I replied, checking the magazine of my sidearm. "We go in as ghosts."
