Chapter 4 - Confession in the DarkThe basement of the Blackwood Estate was not a torture chamber; it was something far more clinical—a high-security vault lined with soundproof acoustic panels, reinforced concrete, and rows of glowing server racks.
David Vance sat tied to a heavy steel chair in the center of the room, sweating profusely through his expensive designer shirt. His glasses were slightly crooked, and his chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow gasps as he stared at the dark figure standing before him.
Lucas leaned against the edge of a steel workbench, casually cleaning his fingernails with a small, surgical pocket knife.
“David,” Lucas said softly, the silence of the vault amplifying every syllable. “Do you know why I enjoy working in this room?”
David swallowed hard, his voice trembling. “Mr. Blackwood... please. There’s been a mistake. I’m a CPA—I’m an accountant, not a soldier—”
“You’re an accountant who sold my car’s schematic to Sean O’Sullivan for fifty thousand dollars,” Lucas interrupted, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. He flicked the pocket knife shut with a sharp click. “You also helped launder the funds that starved Sarah Carter and hundreds of other families out of their homes in South Boston.”
“I was pressured!” David shrieked, tears springing to his eyes. “They threatened my family! The O’Sullivans—they said if I didn't place the phone in the East Wing and leak your schedule, they would—”
“They would what? Break your legs?” Lucas stepped forward, closing the distance between them until his shadow completely swallowed the accountant. “Everyone in this city uses fear as an excuse, David. But very few people choose to terrorize a dying mother and her six-year-old child to save their own skin.”
Lucas turned to Paulie, who stood by the heavy security door. “Did the wire transfers clear from O’Sullivan’s primary accounts into our corporate receivers?”
“Yes, Boss,” Paulie smirked, holding up an encrypted tablet. “We drained three million dollars from their offshore maritime fund thirty minutes ago using the backdoor credentials David so kindly provided us.”
David’s face turned the color of ash. “You... you robbed them? Sean O’Sullivan will declare war! He’ll send an army—”
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“Let him,” Lucas whispered, leaning down until his lips were inches from David’s ear. “Let him send every gun he has. Because today, I am no longer just defending my estate. I am collecting a debt for every family he crushed.”
Lucas straightened up, slipping the pocket knife back into his pocket. “Put him in a shipping crate bound for international waters with a note for Sean: Your debt is past due. Then prep the transport. We are paying Mr. O’Sullivan a personal visit tonight.”
