Chapter 5 - The Confrontation
Forty-eight hours after the bite, Edgar Finch opened his eyes in the Intensive Care Unit.
The room was quiet, lit only by the dull green glow of the heart monitor and the afternoon sun filtering through the heavy window blinds. His leg was heavily bandaged, elevated on two pillows, and a thick IV tube was taped to the back of his hand.
He blinked heavily, his throat dry and raw from the breathing tube that had just been removed an hour prior.
"Mom...?" Edgar croaked out, his voice a raspy whisper. "Nora...?"
"Kristina isn't here, Edgar," a voice spoke from the corner of the room.
Edgar turned his head slowly, groaning from the sharp pain in his neck.
I was sitting in a high-backed armchair near the window, dressed in an elegant black pant suit, holding a hot cup of tea. Beside me stood Marcus Vance and two armed Maricopa County Sheriff deputies.
Edgar’s eyes widened in sudden, disoriented panic. "Nora...? What... what's going on? Where's Mom? Why are there police officers here?"
"Your mother is currently being held at the Maricopa County Sheriff's Office on a two-million-dollar bond," I said, setting my teacup down on the rolling table with a soft clink. "She has been officially charged with attempted first-degree murder, conspiracy to commit murder, and purchasing illegal hazardous wildlife."
Edgar choked on his own breath, his eyes darting frantically around the room. "What?! No! That's crazy! The snake... the snake was an accident! It came in from the yard!"
"The snake was bought in Nogales for three hundred dollars, Edgar," Marcus Vance stepped forward, opening a thick binder. "We have the bank records, the vendor's testimony, the canvas gloves covered in your mother's DNA, and the recorded text messages from your phone."
Edgar's face turned completely white. He tried to sit up, but the sharp agony in his swollen calf forced him back onto the pillows with a loud groan. "Nora... please! I didn't know about the snake! I swear to God, I didn't know she was going to do that! She's crazy! She acted on her own!"
I stood up from my chair and walked slowly to the side of his bed. I looked down at him—this weak, pathetic man whom I had loved, sheltered, and fed for ten years.
"You knew she hated me, Edgar," I said softly. "You listened to her insult my fertility for five years and said nothing. You stole eight hundred thousand dollars from my business accounts to buy an apartment and a BMW for Heather Perkinson."
Edgar gasped, his jaw trembling violently. "You... you know about Heather...?"
"I met Heather," I replied, a icy smile touching my lips. "I met your four-year-old son, Leo. She was very surprised to learn that you weren't a wealthy executive, but a thieving administrative assistant who was about to go to prison."
"Nora, please!" Edgar began to cry, fat, salty tears spilling down his pale cheeks, his hands reaching out toward me in desperate supplication. "I was stupid! I was confused! Heather trapped me! My mother pressured me! I love you, Nora! I’ve always loved you! Please... don't do this to me! Cancel the charges! I'll do anything! I'll work for free for the rest of my life!"
I looked at his outstretched, trembling hands—the hands that had texted his mother to “make sure she doesn't change her mind” about my death.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a single sheet of paper.
"This is an emergency petition for divorce and full asset forfeiture," I said, laying the document on his chest over his hospital gown. "Sign it, Edgar."
"No!" Edgar sobbed, shaking his head frantically. "No! I won't sign it! I have rights! Half of everything you built belongs to me! Half the house, half the company, half the investments!"
Marcus Vance chuckled softly—a dry, terrifying sound.
"Mr. Finch," Marcus said, leaning over the bed rail. "Under Arizona Revised Statute § 13-1105, any individual charged with conspiracy to commit first-degree murder against a spouse forfeits all legal claim to marital property under the slayer rule doctrine. Furthermore, Mrs. Preston has filed a civil suit for eight hundred thousand dollars in civil embezzlement. If you refuse to sign this agreement today, we will freeze every asset your mother owns, seize Heather Perkinson’s apartment and vehicle, and ensure you receive the maximum sentence of twenty-five years in state prison."
Edgar looked at Marcus. He looked at the two armed deputies standing silently near the door. He looked at me—the woman whose life he had tried to take, standing tall, unbothered, and completely untouchable.
He realized he had no weapons left. No mother to protect him. No money to hire an attorney. No secret family to run to.
He was completely, utterly destroyed.
With shaking, trembling fingers, Edgar grabbed the pen Marcus held out to him. He signed his name on the dotted line, his tears smudging the dark blue ink.
"There," Edgar sobbed, throwing the pen onto the blanket, trembling like a child. "I signed it. Now get out. Get out of my room."
I picked up the signed document, checking the signature carefully.
I looked down at him one last time.
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"Goodbye, Edgar," I said softly. "Enjoy the sentence."
I turned my back on him, walking out of the ICU room as the two sheriff deputies stepped forward to place heavy steel handcuffs around his wrists, securing him to the hospital bed frame.
