Two days later, I found myself back in the prison visiting room, the recording device hidden in my jacket pocket.
Vincent looked worse than he had just days ago. The decline was visible; his skin had taken on a grayish pallor, and the shadows under his eyes had deepened to bruises. He moved like every step caused pain.
"Elena." His smile was genuine. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon."
"I needed to talk to you about something." I sat across from him, very aware of the device pressing against my ribs. "About what we discussed last time."
His smile faded. "I told you everything I know."
"I know. But I need... more details. Specifics." I pulled out a notebook prop, really, to make this seem natural. "I'm trying to understand the timeline. When exactly did Senator Brighton first contact you?"
Vincent's eyes narrowed slightly. "Why are you asking this?"
"Because I need to know, Papa. I need to understand what happened." I kept my voice steady, even though my heart was racing. "Please, for me."
He studied my face for a long moment, and I wondered if he could tell I was recording. If he somehow knew.
Finally, he sighed. "It was August 12, two days before the explosion. I remember because it was a Sunday and I was at the summer house in the Hamptons."
"What did he say exactly?"
"He said the Cross investigation was becoming problematic. That they'd gathered enough evidence to bring criminal charges against multiple companies, including ours." Vincent's voice was mechanical, like he was reciting from memory. "He said the situation needed to be 'resolved' before the grand jury hearing scheduled for August 20th."
I wrote this down even though the recorder was capturing everything. "And what did you understand him to mean by 'resolved'?"
"I thought he meant we'd negotiate. Settle out of court. That's how these things usually work." I was naive or maybe I just didn't want to understand."
"When did you realize he meant something else?"
"When he told me to make sure I was nowhere near the Riverside plant on August 15th. That I should have an airtight alibi. That's when I knew." Vincent closed his eyes. "And I did nothing. I didn't warn anyone. I didn't call the police. I just... went to a charity gala in Manhattan and made sure everyone saw me there."
"The explosion happened at what time?"
"2:47 PM. The call came through at 3:15. By then, it was too late."
I forced myself to keep writing, to keep asking questions even though every answer made me feel sicker. "Who called you?"
"One of Brighton's security people. A man named Robert. He said there had been an 'incident' at Riverside. That I needed to get my story straight before the media arrived."
"What story?"
"That it was an accident. Equipment failure. That we'd followed all safety protocols but sometimes tragedies happen." Vincent opened his eyes, and they were full of self-loathing. "I had the story ready by the time the news crews showed up. I gave interviews about how devastated we were, how we'd cooperate fully with the investigation."
"But you didn't cooperate. You covered it up."
"Yes." The word was barely a whisper.
"How?" I asked. "Specifically, how did you falsify the investigation?"
Vincent took a shaky breath. "The first thing was the coroner. Dr. Raymond Walsh. He was the county coroner, and he was... amenable to financial incentives."
"You bribed him?"
"I paid him $500,000 to expedite the autopsies and sign off on 'accidental death' determinations for all fourteen victims." Vincent recited the number like it was seared into his memory. "The money came from an offshore account in the Cayman Islands. Account number 847392-CXB. It's probably still active."
I wrote down the account number with trembling hands. This was evidence. Real, concrete evidence.
"What else?"
"The plant inspection reports. The real ones showed multiple safety violations, faulty equipment, inadequate ventilation systems, and chemical storage protocols not being followed. I had those reports destroyed and replaced with falsified versions showing everything was up to code."
"Who did the falsification?"
"Our in-house counsel at the time. Marcus Webb. He had connections with several inspectors who were willing to backdate their signatures on the fake reports." Vincent rattled off names: "Inspector Gerald Thompson, Inspector Lisa Huang, Inspector David Morrison. Each of them was paid between $50,000 and $100,000."
"From the same offshore account?"
"Different accounts. Webb set up multiple shells to make the payments harder to trace." Vincent gave me account numbers, bank names, locations. The Cayman Islands, Switzerland, Luxembourg. A web of financial deception designed to hide blood money.
I wrote frantically, making sure to get every detail. "What about the physical evidence from the explosion site?"
"The scene was compromised within hours. Brighton's people, his security team, arrived claiming to be federal investigators. They removed evidence, contaminated the site, and made sure nothing could be properly analyzed." Vincent's hands clenched on the table. "By the time real investigators arrived, there was nothing left to find."
"The security team. Do you have names?"
"Robert Chen, who I mentioned. Also Thomas Driscoll and James Martinez. They were all on Brighton's personal payroll."
More names. More evidence. The recording device was capturing all of it.
"Papa, you mentioned last time that fourteen people died. But you said the Cross family were the specific targets?"
"Yes." Vincent's voice cracked. "The Cross were building a case that would have exposed not just Castellano Industries, but an entire network of companies engaged in illegal activities. Environmental violations, yes, but also..." He paused, looking around nervously even though the guard was far enough away not to hear. "Also weapons manufacturing. Illegal weapons manufacturing."
"What kind of weapons?"
"I don't know all the details. But Riverside wasn't just producing industrial chemicals. There was a section of the plant, Section D that was manufacturing components for weapons systems. Experimental chemical weapons, I think. Being sold to foreign governments without proper authorization."
My pen stopped moving. "Chemical weapons? Are you saying"
"I'm saying the Riverside plant was a front for illegal arms dealing. And The Cross discovered it. They had documentation, witness statements, everything they needed to bring federal charges." Vincent's eyes filled with tears. "So Brighton had them killed. And eleven other workers died just to make it look like an accident."
"The other eleven were just... collateral damage?"
"Yes.
Vincent recited each name like a litany of sins. "All of them had families. All of them died because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Because Brighton wanted to eliminate two people and didn't care how many others died in the process."
I felt tears on my cheeks but didn't wipe them away. "And you helped cover this up."
"Yes."
"For money? For power? Why?"
"For all of it. And because I was afraid." Vincent reached across the table toward me, and I instinctively pulled back. He let his hand drop. "Brighton showed me what he was capable of. He killed fourteen people without hesitation. I knew if I didn't cooperate, I'd be next. You'd be next. Your mother would be next."
"But Mama found out anyway."
"Yes. About a year before her... before she disappeared, Isabella found the offshore account records. She found communications between me and Brighton. She found proof of the cover-up." Vincent wiped his eyes. "She confronted me. Told me she was going to expose everything. I begged her not to. Told her it would destroy you, destroy our family. But she said some things were more important than family."
"She was right."
"Maybe." Vincent looked at me with such profound sadness. "But it cost her everything. Her life, her identity, her daughter. Was it worth it?"
"Fourteen people died, Papa. Their families deserve justice."
"Justice." He laughed bitterly. "There's no justice. Just powerful people protecting each other and crushing anyone who gets in their way. Your mother tried to get justice and had to fake her death. Now you're trying and..." He shook his head. "I'm so tired, Elena. So tired of carrying this."
I wanted to comfort him, but I couldn't. Not when he'd made the choices that led to this. Not when his cowardice had cost so many lives.
"Is there anything else?" I asked instead. "Anything else I should know?"
Vincent thought for a moment. "The evidence. The original investigation reports, the real ones before I had them falsified, I kept copies. I couldn't bring myself to destroy them completely. They're in a safe deposit box at First National Bank in Manhattan. Box number 1847. The key is..." He paused. "The key was in Isabella's desk. She probably took it with her when she disappeared."
"What name is the box under?"
Vincent saw my confusion. "A false identity I created years ago for exactly this kind of situation. The bank has a signature card on file. You'd need to prove you're authorized to access it, but if you have Isabella's key and can get past the bank's verification..."
"I'll figure it out."
"Elena." Vincent's voice was soft. "Whatever you're planning to do with this information... be careful. Brighton is not a man who tolerates threats."
"I know."
"No, I don't think you do." He leaned forward urgently. "He's not just powerful. He's ruthless. He'll kill you without hesitation if he thinks you're a danger to him. Promise me you'll be careful."
I looked at my father, this man who'd loved me, provided for me, given me every advantage. This man who'd also covered up mass murder and let an innocent family burn to death to save himself.
"I promise," I said, though I wasn't sure I meant it.
He studied my face, and I wondered if he could tell I was lying. If he knew that I was going to do whatever it took to bring down Brighton, regardless of the risk.
"I love you," he said finally. "Whatever happens, whatever you think of me, I want you to know that I love you. You're the only good thing I ever did in my life."
"I love you too, Papa." And despite everything, I meant it. He was a monster and a coward, but he was also my father. Both things were true at once.
The guard called out: "Five minutes."
Vincent nodded acknowledgment, then turned back to me. "One more thing. Brighton is planning something big. I don't know what, but in the weeks before my arrest, there were rumors. Something about a major operation, a significant sale. If Brighton is making a move, it's going to be big. And it's going to be soon."
"How do you know?"
"Because men like Brighton don't just maintain power. They expand it. And expansion requires boldness." Vincent's eyes were intense. "Whatever you do, do it quickly. Before he can consolidate more control. Before he becomes completely untouchable."
"Time's up," the guard announced.
I stood up, gathering my notebook and pen. Vincent stood too, slower, older.
"Can I hug you?" he asked.
I hesitated, then nodded. He came around the table and wrapped his arms around me. He felt frail, like he might break.
"I'm sorry," he whispered in my ear. "For everything. I'm so sorry."
"I know, Papa."
We held each other for a moment, a goodbye we didn't know was final.
Then the guard was there, gently separating us. "Ma'am, you need to go."
I pulled away, looking at my father one last time. He looked so old, so defeated. Whatever fire had driven him to build an empire was completely extinguished now.
"Goodbye, Papa."
"Goodbye, my darling girl. Be safe. Be smart. And remember some fights aren't worth winning if the cost is your life."
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, and let the guard escort me out.
I made it to my car before I started shaking.
My hands trembled so badly I could barely get the key in the ignition. I sat there in the prison parking lot, breathing hard, trying to process everything over and over again.
Chemical weapons. Illegal arms dealing. Fourteen murders to cover it up. Offshore accounts. Bribed officials. A network of corruption spanning decades.
And it was all on the recording device in my pocket.
I pulled it out with shaking hands and played back a few seconds. Vincent's voice came through clearly: "Brighton ordered the murders. I helped cover it up. I'm guilty..."
I had it. I had everything.
Account numbers, names of co-conspirators, details about the falsification, admission of murder and cover-up. Evidence that could bring down not just Brighton but potentially dozens of people involved in the conspiracy.
I quickly forwarded the recording to my laptop via Bluetooth, then uploaded it to an encrypted cloud storage service. Backup copies. If something happened to me, the recording would still exist.
Then I texted Sarah: Got it. Everything. More than we hoped for.
Her response came immediately: Excellent work. Can you meet tonight? I need to hear it and start planning next steps.
I hesitated. I was exhausted, emotionally drained, still shaking from the conversation with my dad. But Sarah was right, we needed to move quickly.
Where? I texted back.
Your place? Or somewhere neutral if you're not comfortable with that.
I thought about Damien waiting at the penthouse. About how I'd have to explain where I'd been, what I'd been doing. About whether I could trust him with this information.
Neutral. Same diner. 8 PM?
See you there.
I put the phone away and finally started the car. As I pulled out of the parking lot, I looked back at the prison one more time. My Dad was in there somewhere, probably being escorted back to his cell. Probably exhausted from reliving his sins.
I didn't know then that in less than 96 hours, he'd be dead.
I didn't know that Sarah Rodriguez had already sent Brighton a detailed report of everything Vincent had told me.
I didn't know that Brighton was already planning his next move eliminating the final witness who could testify against him.
All I knew was that I had evidence. Real, concrete, undeniable evidence.
And I was going to use it to destroy the man who'd destroyed so many lives.
I drove back to Manhattan feeling something I hadn't felt in months: certainty.
I had a plan. I had proof. I had an ally.
Everything was going to be fine.
Everything was going to work out.
I had no idea how wrong I was.
But I'd find out soon enough