Chapter 6 - Betrayal in the Ranks
The next morning, Ana and I were escorted to the federal building in downtown San Francisco under maximum security. The atmosphere was electric with the chaos of a massive legal crackdown. Dozens of executives, lawyers, and enforcers associated with Apex Holdings were being marched through the corridors in handcuffs.
Inside a secure conference room, Agent Lin laid out the pieces of the puzzle.
"We found the leak," Lin said, placing a photograph on the table. It was the officer who had been assigned to guard the perimeter of our safehouse—Officer Miller. "He was on Victor Vance’s payroll for the last three years. He gave up your location for half a million dollars. He’s already singing to save himself from a life sentence."
"What about my father?" I asked, sitting at the table with my cast resting on a soft pillow.
"Mark Darcy is terrified," Ana answered for the agent, a sharp smile on her face. "When he heard that Victor Vance was arrested and that the FBI had the hidden ledger, he realized he had no cards left to play. He’s terrified that Vance will have him killed in prison for exposing the money laundering scheme."
"He wants to see you, Alana," Agent Lin added. "He’s begging for a meeting. He says he will plead guilty to everything and testify against Victor Vance in exchange for you asking the judge for a lighter sentence in a minimum-security facility."
I stared at the pristine glass windows overlooking the San Francisco bay. The memory of the baseball bat crashing down on my arm flashed through my mind, the sound of the crack echoing in my ears, the cruel laughter of my stepfamily ringing out.
"Take me to him," I said coldly. "I want to look him in the eye."
An hour later, I was escorted into a sterile visitation room divided by a thick pane of plexiglass. Mark Darcy sat on the other side, wearing a bright orange jumpsuit. The arrogant, imposing man who had terrorized me in the Fremont mansion was gone. In his place sat a broken, aging man with dark circles under his hollow eyes and trembling hands.
When he saw me, he pressed his hands against the glass. "Alana! Please, you have to help me! They’re going to put me in a maximum-security prison with Vance's people! I’ll be dead within a week! I’m your father, Alana! Your own flesh and blood!"
I picked up the phone receiver with my left hand, keeping my broken arm close to my chest. "You stopped being my father the moment you raised that bat, Mark."
"It was Yasmin!" he lied desperately, tears streaming down his face. "She put me up to it! She said we needed the money or we’d lose everything! I didn't want to hurt you, I swear!"
"You broke my arm while your wife and stepdaughter laughed and recorded it," I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion. "You planned to throw me into a psychiatric ward and strip me of everything my grandmother worked for. You don't get to play the victim now."
"Please, Alana! Just tell the prosecutor to agree to the minimum-security transfer! I’ll sign a full confession! I’ll give up all claims to the family name, the mansion, everything!"
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"You don't have anything left to give up," I replied calmly. "The court is already seizing the Fremont mansion to pay off your fraudulent debts. You are completely bankrupt, financially and morally. You will take the plea deal because it’s your only choice, but I will not ask the judge for mercy. You will serve every single day of whatever sentence they give you."
I hung up the phone. Mark began slamming his fists against the glass, screaming obscenities as the guards dragged him away. I stood up, turned my back on him, and walked out into the light.
