Chapter 136 #54: I'm Fucking Sorry
Maya stands frozen under the bright lights of the Red Room, her chest rising and falling too fast, eyes wide with the kind of shock that only comes when every careful plan collapses in the same heartbeat. Blood is drying on my arms, sticky and warm, but none of it is mine. The bodies of her men lie scattered across the carpet like broken dolls – some still twitching, most already gone. The air smells of copper and gunpowder and fear.
I keep the pistol steadily pointed to her chest. My voice comes out calmly. “All I want is an apology, Maya. One honest apology. Say it, and I let you walk out of here.”
She stares at me for a long second, then laughs. The sound starts small and builds until it echoes off the crimson walls. “That’s it? That’s why you staged this entire circus? For a fucking apology?”
I don’t smile back. “Not everyone is an evil genius.”
Her laughter cuts off suddenly and she wipes a smear of blood from her cheek with the back of her hand. “No. You’re right. You’re far too pathetic to be an evil genius. If an apology is all it takes to end this, then fine. I’m fucking sorry. Happy now?”
I tilt my head. “Why?”
She blinks. “What?”
“Why did you do it? All of it. The blackmail. The engagement charade. Elaine. The frame job. Why go this far?”
Maya exhales through her nose, almost amused. “Because I loved him. Because I watched David choose you over and over again and every time it felt like someone was carving pieces out of me. I thought if I could just clear the path... if I could remove the obstacles... he’d finally see me. Really see me. The power was secondary. The company, the money, the control… those were just tools to keep him close. But you kept getting in the way. You divorced him, hid his child, and got married to Vincent of all people. You destroyed him and then waltzed back in like nothing happened and still he fucking chose you. So... I decided to destroy you instead.”
She takes one careful step forward. I don’t move the gun.
“Elaine became a liability,” she continues. “She started asking too many questions and threatened to come clean. I couldn’t risk it. One clean choke, one quick dump in the river, and the problem solved itself. Framing you was just… efficient.”
I nod slowly. “And the tapes? How did you swap them?”
Maya’s mouth curves into a smile. “In case you’re recording this little heart-to-heart of ours... and by the way I know you are... I’m sure I don’t need to remind you what happened the last time you tried to use audio evidence in court. My people are everywhere, Nora. Every department. Every lab. Every judge’s clerk who needs a little extra cash for a kid’s tuition. If you try to use whatever you’ve got tonight, it will suffer the exact same fate. Besides…” She spreads her hands. “Everyone thinks I’m dead. Who’s going to believe a ghost confessed to murder on a secret recording? They’ll say you faked it. Again.”
I let the silence stretch just long enough for her to feel safe.
Then I smile.
“Einstein said the definition of stupidity is doing the same thing twice and expecting a different result.” My voice stays soft. “But he never said anything about doing the same thing twice… but a little differently.”
Maya’s expression morphs into confusion first, then the first real thread of unease.
From the shadowed alcove behind the desk, Vincent steps into the light.
He’s holding up his phone which shows a lit screen with a live feed icon pulsing in the corner. The tiny speaker crackles with distant voices – Harlan’s low murmur, Martinez asking for confirmation, the DA himself demanding timestamps. Somewhere in the background I hear the faint echo of a radio broadcast, a late-night talk show host cutting into regular programming to say, “We interrupt this program for breaking news being fed live to multiple stations across the city…”
Maya’s face slowly drains of colour.
Vincent’s voice is rough but steady. “They’ve been listening since the moment you walked through the front door. Every word. Every confession. Live. Which means no disappearing evidence. Millions of people just heard you admit to murdering Elaine Reid and framing Nora for it. Including the district attorney, Internal Affairs, and every news outlet that’s been running your face on loop for months.”
Maya’s gaze darts between us. “You’re bluffing.”
Vincent lowers the phone slightly. “Check your own bugs. They’re still transmitting. You can hear the radio delay if you listen hard enough.”
She doesn’t move to check. She doesn’t need to. The truth is written across her face.
Rage replaces shock in an instant and she lunges with full force, making me drop the pistol. We collide hard. Her nails rake down my cheek. I drive my elbow into her ribs, hear the air rush out of her. She staggers but doesn’t fall. Instead she twists and grabs for the gun on the floor. I scramble for it too but her fingers close around it first.
She swings it up.
Vincent moves faster than I expect from a man who’s spent months in hiding. He throws himself between us just as her finger tightens on the trigger.
The shot is deafening in the enclosed room.
Vincent jerks backwards and soon after, a red bloom spreads across his chest. He stumbles backward into me. I catch him before he falls, my arms wrapping around his waist as his knees buckle.
Maya freezes for half a second... and that’s just long enough.
I release Vincent gently to the carpet, spin, and slam my forearm into the side of her head. She drops like a stone, unconscious before she hits the ground.
I’m already back at Vincent’s side.
Blood is soaking through his shirt quickly. Too quickly. And way too much. I press both hands over the wound, trying to hold the life inside him.
His eyes find mine. They’re glassy, unfocused, but still him.
“Nora…” His voice is wet with bubbling blood. “I’m… sorry.”
“Don’t talk.” I try to keep my voice steady, but it cracks. “Just breathe. Help’s coming.”
He shakes his head weakly. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth. “Wanted… you to forgive me. That’s all. Tell Lucy… her Daddy loves her.”
Tears blur my vision. I lean down and press my forehead to his. “I forgive you,” I whisper.
His lips curve in the ghost of a smile. His hand finds mine, he squeezes, then goes slack.
His chest stops moving.
I press my face into the side of his neck and sob – raw, ugly sounds that tear out of me. In my own broken way, I loved him too. Not the way I love David. Never that. But he was part of my life for years. He raised my daughter when I thought her real father was gone forever. He tried to protect us in the end, even if he started as the monster.
I don’t hear Maya stir behind me. I don’t see her push herself up on shaking arms. I don’t register the glint of the knife she pulls from her boot until it’s too late.
I try to get on my knees quickly, but Vincent’s dead weight is pinning my legs. I can’t stand fast enough. The best I can do is twist my torso and pray the knife misses anything vital.
I squeeze my eyes shut and tense for the throw, but before I can move, the sound of a gunshot cracks through the room.