The county holding facility smelled of damp concrete and industrial pine cleaner.
Julian and I were escorted through three heavy steel security gates by Detective Miller.
Noah remained under armed protection back at the estate with Marcus.
In the center of the interrogation room sat Vanessa.
Her designer silk blouse was gone, replaced by an oversized orange jumpsuit.
Her makeup was scrubbed clean, revealing hollow, sallow skin beneath her eyes.
Her wrists were chained to the metal table.
Across from her sat her court-appointed attorney, looking miserable.
When the heavy steel door clicked shut, Vanessa looked up.
Her eyes locked onto me first.
She smiled a thin, bloodless smile.
“Look at you, Rachel,” she sneered. “From folding laundry to riding in the billionaire’s armored motorcade.”
“Shut your mouth, Vanessa,” Julian said coldly, taking a seat opposite her.
“You requested this meeting. You have five minutes.”
Vanessa leaned forward, the chains rattling against the metal tabletop.
“I want a recommendation for minimum security.”
“And I want the attempted murder charge reduced to reckless endangerment.”
Julian didn't even blink.
“No.”
“Then enjoy watching your empire burn to ash, Julian.”
“You have nothing,” Julian said, his voice flat.
“The camera recorded you holding the hot iron over an infant.”
“The audio recorded your confession.”
“You are going to prison for twenty-five years minimum.”
Vanessa’s smile widened, revealing stained teeth.
“You think I plugged that iron in because I lost my temper?”
“You plugged it in to clear the estate for Thomas,” I said.
Vanessa laughed, a sharp, ugly sound that echoed off the cinderblock walls.
“Thomas was an idiot puppet, Rachel.”
“Just like Greg.”
She turned her gaze back to Julian.
“Did you ever wonder why your father’s will left forty percent of the overseas holdings to a blind Swiss trust?”
Julian went completely still.
His jaw tightened so hard I could hear his teeth grind.
“My father died ten years ago.”
“He did,” Vanessa whispered.
“But his business partner didn't.”
“The man who owns that Swiss account has been waiting for Eleanor to die.”
“And now he wants Noah dead too.”
Julian stood up, slamming his palms onto the metal table.
“Who is he?”
Vanessa leaned in close, whispering a single name that made Julian turn as white as a corpse.
“Richard Sterling.”