Chapter 4 - The Recording
"Are you insane?" Daniel whispered fiercely the moment the call ended. "You're sending her back in there? Jason is volatile. If he finds out she's recording him, he could kill her."
"Jason is a coward," I replied calmly, packing the documents back into my bag. "He only bullies those he thinks are weaker than him. Madison knows how to play the victim; she’ll survive fifteen minutes. But we need his confession on tape, Daniel. The ledger is old evidence. We need proof of his current criminal intent."
We immediately called the police, providing them with the address of the penthouse and reporting a domestic disturbance in progress. Then, Daniel and I got into his car and drove toward the high-rise district, the tension in the vehicle thick enough to cut with a knife.
Meanwhile, in the penthouse, Madison’s phone was recording.
Later, during the discovery phase, we would listen to that audio. The raw, unfiltered terror in her voice, and the booming, psychotic rage of my husband.
"What are you doing in here?" Jason’s voice had roared on the tape, followed by the sound of glass shattering. "Did you think you could just walk away? You took my money, Madison! You spent millions of my company’s cash, and now you’re trying to run?"
"Jason, please, you're hurting my arm!" Madison screamed. "The police are going to come! Iris knows everything! She knows about the Cayman accounts!"
"Iris doesn't know shit!" Jason bellowed, his voice distorted by adrenaline. "She’s a broken, scarred freak! I should have finished her off eight years ago in that lab! If I had just let the chamber run for another five minutes, she’d be ashes, and I wouldn't be dealing with this garbage today!"
It was the golden ticket. The absolute, unvarnished confession of attempted murder.
By the time Daniel and I arrived at the penthouse lobby, three police cruisers were already parked outside, their red and blue lights painting the concrete walls in flashing hues of emergency.
We rushed up the elevator. When the doors opened on the penthouse floor, the sound of shouting was audible. Two officers had Jason pinned to the polished marble floor of the foyer, his face pressed against the expensive stone. He was kicking and cursing, his bespoke suit ruined, his hair disheveled.
Madison was sitting on a bench near the entrance, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders, her makeup smeared with tears. Her phone was clutched tightly in her hand.
When Jason saw me step out of the elevator, his eyes flared with pure, unadulterated hatred.
"You!" he shrieked, spitting blood onto the marble. "You did this to me! You ruined my life!"
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I walked over to him, stopping just out of reach of his flailing limbs. I looked down at him, not with anger, but with a profound sense of pity.
"You ruined your own life, Jason, the moment you decided that power was worth more than human life," I said softly. "I’m just the one who turned on the lights."
