Chapter 6 - The Counter-Statement
The precinct waiting room smelled of cheap coffee and damp wool coats. Jax sat on a hard plastic chair, holding Lily close to his chest while a friendly female social worker kept the little girl distracted with coloring books. Across the linoleum-tiled room, the lieutenant motioned Jax toward a private glass-walled interrogation room.
“Leave her with Ms. Gable,” the lieutenant instructed quietly. “This is going to get complicated very quickly.”
Jax nodded, handing Lily a final kiss on her forehead before following the officer inside. The room was sterile, dominated by a heavy metal table and two chairs. On the monitor mounted in the corner, a video feed played silently, showing Eleanor sitting in an adjacent holding cell, her makeup slightly smeared, speaking rapidly to her defense attorney.
“She waived her right to silence thirty minutes ago,” the lieutenant said, closing the door and sliding a transcript across the table. “She claims she didn't try to poison you. She claims she was blackmailed.”
Jax picked up the transcript, his eyes scanning the typewritten lines. “Blackmailed by whom? Marcus?”
“Worse,” the lieutenant replied grimly. “She claims the entire plot was orchestrated by your uncle, David Vance—the man everyone in this city thought died in a private plane crash off the coast of Maine twelve years ago.”
Jax slammed his hand onto the metal table, the sudden sound echoing in the small room. “That’s impossible! David’s body was never recovered, but the Coast Guard found wreckage. There was a memorial service. I stood at his grave!”
“An empty casket makes for a very convenient escape,” the lieutenant noted, sliding a glossy photograph across the table. “Interpol flagged a passport renewal matching David Vance’s fingerprints in Zurich yesterday morning. He didn't die in that crash, Mr. Vance. He faked his death, looted the company pension funds, and left your father to take the fall before returning tonight to finish off the remaining heirs.”
Jax stared at the photograph. It was a recent surveillance still of a silver-haired man boarding a private jet in Switzerland—a man who bore an unmistakable family resemblance to his own father.
“So my mother wasn't the mastermind,” Jax said slowly, the pieces finally clicking together in his mind. “She was being leveraged. David threatened to expose her embezzlement if she didn't help him eliminate me and take absolute control of the board.”
“That’s her story,” the lieutenant cautioned. “She’s trying to save herself by throwing a ghost under the bus. But there’s one problem. According to immigration logs, David Vance entered the country three days ago through a private airstrip owned by none other than Marcus Hayes.”
Jax stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor. The web of deceit stretched much further than he had ever imagined. Marcus wasn't just a corporate accountant; he was David’s primary fixer, embedded inside the company to monitor every move Jax made.
“Where is Marcus right now?” Jax demanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
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“That’s the other reason I brought you in,” the lieutenant said slowly, standing up to face him. “Marcus was being transferred to the county holding facility ten minutes ago. His transport van was just ambushed on the highway by an unmarked black SUV.”
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