Chapter 6 - The Confession in the DarkBy midnight, the Wexler compound was dead silent.
The political storm we had unleashed downtown was already echoing through every news channel and police scanner in Philadelphia. Victor Sterling had been arrested by federal agents before he could even reach his car, and his entire corrupt network of municipal bribetakers was currently dissolving like salt in water.
I stood on the stone balcony of the master suite, the cold river wind whipping my hair across my face, staring out at the glittering lights of the Ben Franklin Bridge in the distance.
The heavy glass door slid open.
Simon stepped out onto the balcony, holding two crystal glasses filled with dark amber whiskey. He handed one to me without a word, leaning his forearms against the stone railing beside me.
“You destroyed him in twenty minutes,” Simon said, a note of genuine awe in his deep voice. “I spent five years trying to legally corner Sterling in federal court, and you dismantled his entire operation with a single leather folder.”
“My grandfather taught my mother how to fight corrupt politicians,” I said softly, taking a small sip of the whiskey. It burned all the way down to my stomach, warming me against the night chill. “And my mother taught me before she died. She always said men like Sterling only look powerful until you pull back the curtain and show everyone that their power is built on stolen paper.”
Simon turned his head, studying my profile in the moonlight.
“Why didn't you run?” he asked suddenly.
I paused, lowering the glass. “What do you mean?”
“When you found out the truth,” Simon said, his voice dropping into a register of raw, unguarded honesty. “When you realized your father sold you, that I didn't marry you for love, that you were walking into a den of waterfront criminals holding a forty-million-dollar target on your back... why didn't you take your brother and sister and run?”
I turned to face him, looking up into those ocean-blue eyes that had terrified me twenty-four hours ago.
“Run where, Simon?” I asked quietly. “My father would have gambled away our house within a month anyway. Tommy and Rose would have ended up in foster care. I’ve spent my entire life running from creditors, hiding from bill collectors, and picking up the pieces of other people’s destruction.”
I reached out, my fingers gently brushing against the lapel of his black shirt, right over his heart.
“I didn't run because for the first time in my life, I wasn't a victim,” I whispered. “I was the weapon.”
May you like
Simon caught my hand. His fingers intertwined with mine, his grip warm, fierce, and absolute. He pulled me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me in a embrace so protective it took my breath away.
“You’re not a weapon, Abigail,” Simon murmured against my hair, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re my wife. And nobody on this waterfront will ever touch you again.”
