Chapter 5 - The Confession of Dominic Vance
The county jail visiting room smelled of industrial disinfectant, stale coffee, and human despair. Through the thick, reinforced glass partition, Dominic Vance looked like a shadow of the arrogant man who had ruled his household with an iron fist. His orange jumpsuit hung loosely on his frame, his hair was unwashed, and the manicured confidence that had defined his entire existence had been entirely stripped away.
I sat on the other side of the glass, picking up the heavy plastic telephone receiver. After a long moment of hesitation, Dominic picked up his own receiver, pressing it against his ear. His eyes were bloodshot and filled with a mixture of raw hatred and desperate pleading.
"Are you happy now?" his voice rasped through the static-filled speaker. "You took the company. You took the house. You’ve got my mother and father living out of a suitcase in a Holiday Inn express. Is your revenge satisfied?"
"Revenge implies I did this out of malice, Dominic," I replied, my voice calm, even, and detached. "I didn't. I did this out of self-preservation. You tried to burn my hand off because a steak wasn't cooked to your exact liking. You and your family watched me bleed on the kitchen floor and stepped over me like I was garbage."
Dominic slammed his fist against the glass, though the sound was muffled and pathetic. "It was a mistake! A momentary lapse in judgment! Couples fight all the time!"
"Burning someone’s flesh isn't a fight, Dominic. It’s torture. And recording it wasn't a setup—it was insurance against a man who I knew would kill me if given half a chance."
Dominic slumped forward, resting his forehead against the cold glass. When he spoke next, his voice dropped to a low, trembling whisper, stripped of all bravado. "Gerald says... Gerald says the prosecutors have me dead to rights on the embezzlement charges. The federal indictments alone carry forty years. With my background, they won't offer parole until I'm an old man."
"Forty years is generous," I said quietly. "Given how many lives you ruined, how many small subcontractors you drove into bankruptcy through your predatory billing practices, and how many times you raised your hands against people who couldn't fight back... you belong behind bars."
Dominic looked up, his eyes wide and desperate. "Please. You’re my wife. You have the power to drop the domestic charges. You can tell the U.S. Attorney that we can work out a civil settlement, that I can sign over whatever you want—"
"I already have everything I want, Dominic," I interrupted, cutting him off completely.
"What do you want?!" he screamed, his voice cracking into a pathetic sob that caused a nearby jail guard to step closer with a heavy baton resting on his belt. "What else is left for you to take?!"
I leaned forward, my face inches from the glass, looking straight into the eyes of the man who had tried to destroy me.
May you like
"Your freedom. Your legacy. And your illusion of power."
I placed my receiver back on its cradle with a sharp, echoing click, stood up without a backward glance, and walked out of the visitation room into the bright, uncompromising sunlight of a brand-new day.
