Sarah Jenkins stepped forward, holding a digital tablet in her hand.
"The real journal, along with the original deed, was delivered directly to Federal Prosecutor Thomas Cole the moment we arrived," Sarah said, gesturing to the grey-haired man standing beside her.
Thomas Cole stepped into the light, his face grim, his eyes fixed on Richard Sterling.
"Hello, Richard," Cole said, his voice carrying the weight of federal authority. "It's been a long time. I believe we have some things to discuss."
Richard's face drained of color, his skin turning a pasty, translucent grey as he looked at the prosecutor.
"Thomas... this is a misunderstanding," Richard stammered, his hands trembling as he tried to slide the signed proxy document into his pocket. "Arthur and I were just... we were just discussing a private corporate matter."
"A private corporate matter that involved running a seventy-two-year-old man and his wife off a dark highway?" Cole asked, stepping closer. "Or perhaps the embezzlement of fifty million dollars from a registered charity?"
"You have no proof of that!" Richard shouted, his voice cracking with desperation. "You can't prove I had anything to do with their accident! It was a deer! Arthur said so himself!"
"Actually, Richard, we have quite a bit of proof," I said, pointing to the top corner of the library bookshelf.
Nestled between two leather-bound volumes of encyclopedia was a small, blinking green light—a hidden security camera.
"This library is equipped with a state-of-the-art security system," Sarah Jenkins explained, a cold smile on her lips. "I personally activated the audio and video feed to our main server the moment Mr. Carter entered the room. Every word of your confession, every threat, and the moment you threw that book into the fire has been recorded and uploaded to a secure cloud server."
Richard spun around, looking at the camera, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.
He looked like a trapped animal, his eyes darting toward the curtained windows, then to the door, realizing there was no escape.
"And as for the crash," Prosecutor Cole added, "state troopers have already located the black SUV abandoned two miles down the road. The vehicle is registered to a shell company owned by your brother-in-law, and the front bumper has paint transfers that match Mr. Carter's vintage Jaguar perfectly. Your driver is already in custody, Richard. He's talking."
Marcus Thorne let out a whimpering sound and sank to his knees, his hands covering his face as he began to sob, realizing his career and his life were over.
Richard stood paralyzed, his chest heaving, his arrogant posture completely collapsed.
"This... this isn't over," Richard whispered, though there was no conviction left in his voice. "My lawyers will—"
"Your lawyers won't be able to save you from a federal indictment for conspiracy to commit murder, grand larceny, and corporate fraud, Richard," Prosecutor Cole said calmly.
He stepped to the door and gestured to two uniformed state troopers waiting in the corridor.
"Take them both into custody," Cole commanded.
The troopers moved quickly, their heavy boots thudding against the carpet.
Within seconds, handcuffs were clicked around Richard's wrists, the sharp metallic sound echoing in the quiet room like a final gavel strike.
As they dragged Richard past me, he stopped, his eyes filled with a bitter, venomous hatred.
"You think you won, Arthur?" he hissed, his face twisted in rage. "You're still an old man with a dead son. Nothing you do tonight will bring him back."
I looked at him, feeling no anger, only a deep, profound pity for a man who had sold his soul for green-faced watches and offshore accounts.
"You're right, Richard," I said softly. "Nothing will bring Julian back. But tonight, his dream is going to live. And you are going to spend the rest of your life in a cage, remembering that you were beaten by two old people in muddy clothes."
Richard was dragged out of the room, his curses fading down the long hallway, followed by a weeping Marcus Thorne.
The library fell silent once more, the warmth of the fireplace now a comfort rather than a threat.
Eleanor walked over to me, her eyes wet with tears, and wrapped her arms around my waist, burying her face in my shoulder.