Chapter 9 - VINCENT’S LAST WORDS TO ME
Vincent was convicted after a lengthy trial.
Murder-related charges.
Financial crimes.
Conspiracy.
Obstruction.
The exact legal language mattered to courts more than to me.
The evidence held.
He received a sentence that effectively meant he would spend the rest of his life imprisoned.
Years later, he requested a visit.
I declined twice.
The third time, Olivia surprised me.
“Go.”
“Why?”
“Because you keep wondering.”
She was right.
I visited him alone.
He looked old.
Smaller.
Without suits and cars and men answering phones, he looked like what he was.
A sixty-something man sitting behind glass.
He smiled.
“Dominic.”
I said nothing.
“You look like your father.”
“I spent years trying not to.”
“He would’ve been ashamed of what you did to the businesses.”
“Good.”
His smile disappeared.
Then:
“Isabelle would have destroyed everything.”
I stared.
“That’s still how you justify it?”
“She was going to hand generations of power to the government because she wanted to sleep better.”
“You killed her.”
“I protected the family.”
There it was.
Still.
After everything.
I leaned toward the glass.
“No.”
“You protected control.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“You think Grace changed you?”
“No.”
“Isabelle did.”
“The girls did.”
“Grace just helped me hear them.”
Vincent laughed bitterly.
“You went soft.”
I stood.
“No.”
“I stopped confusing cruelty with strength.”
I walked away.
His last words followed me:
“Blood is blood.”
I stopped.
Turned once.
“My daughters taught me blood isn’t enough.”
Then I left.
I never saw him again.
He died in prison four years later.
I felt grief.
That surprised me.
Not grief for the murderer.
Grief for the uncle I thought I had.
The childhood version.
The man before I knew.
Grace told me that was allowed.
Again—
May you like
two truths.
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