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“I don't know who that guy was.” Martin now practically sounds agitated.
“This is your last chance to talk, Martin. We have you, and we have Jimmy . . . and we only have 1 deal on the table. Only one of you can get it . . . life in prison without the possibility of parole. A man is dead, Martin . . . two men, actually. Jimmy is talking. Give us the information we need. Beat him to the deal.”
“I . . . I didn't want any of this. Christopher Dexter forced me into it.” Martin finally cracks., the pain in his voice palpable even from this far.
“Keep talking, Martin. We need the whole story.”
“Mr. Dexter wanted Liam gone. Said he was bad for business, and he was fucking things up with the Knightleighs. He threatened to ruin me if I didn't comply.”
“Why did Dexter see Liam as a threat?”
“Liam's project – Lian held a press conference or something, and he called it a reparation program. Dexter was furious. It was causing tension with Sir Reginald Knightleigh. It was more than just business; it was personal. All their eggs are in that one basket . . . the diamond trade, and without Sir Knightleigh, the Dexter empire would crumble to nothing. I don’t know what Sir Reginald Knightleigh has on Dexter, but he has him in a chokehold. It looks like Sir Reginald Knightleigh said jump,and Christopher Dexter asked, “How high?” and Sir Reginald Knightleigh said Liam . . . dead.”
“Go on, Martin. We need everything you know.” Detective Rodriguez pushes for more.
“That’s all I have . . . Dexter wanted Liam dead, and he wouldn't take no for an answer. He told me I had to find someone to make it happen or else.”
“Or else what?” Detective Jenkins asks.
“Have you met Christopher Dexter? Nobody would dare ask him to finish such a sentence.”
Chapter fifty-three
THE DOMINOES FALLING: CHRISTOPHER DEXTER.
LIAM
It is a gorgeous day today, and Tony and I take a walk along the banks of Lake Zurich, the sun casting a warm golden hue on the serene water.
The sound of the gentle waves lapping against the shore soothes my soul as the scent of freshly mown grass fills my nostrils, our hands intertwined inside a single glove, completely ruining my Bergdorf Goodman deerskin glove, but I don’t care.
I love the skin-to-skin feel of Tony’s hand in mine, hence this cute and intimate gesture we've adopted during our time here. I know this will die down someday, but right now, this woman still takes my breath away, and I let her. I glance over at her now, her eyes sparkling with happiness, and my heart swells with immeasurable love that knows no bounds.
My phone pings, breaking the tranquility of the moment, and I carefully disengage my hand from Tony's, slipping it out ofthe shared glove before reaching into my pocket to check the message. Her eyes meet mine, a mix of curiosity and concern.
"Father O'Malley," I say, showing her the text that reads: "Need to talk. Got news."
"Zoom in 10 minutes," I tap out a reply, then turn to Tony. "We need to head back to the house."
She nods, understanding the gravity of Father O'Malley's messages. Lately, our lives have been constantly plastered across the Miami news, a dizzying saga that we can't seem to escape even in the peaceful refuge of Zurich. We hail a cab and make our way home.
Ten minutes later, I send Father O'Malley the Zoom link, and he promptly appears on the screen. We dispense with the usual pleasantries, eager to hear the latest developments.
"Sarah just gave me the rundown," Father O'Malley begins, and I can see the weight of the news on his face. "Martin was offered a deal if he could bring your father in. Detective Jenkins convinced him to wear a wire to record Christopher incriminating himself."
As Father O'Malley continues, my mind races with thoughts about the family business that I sacrificed so much for—twelve years in prison for a crime I didn't commit—and now, it seems it's all falling apart.
"Your father was taken in, Liam. He's been in custody since 3 PM yesterday," Father O'Malley says, his voice heavy with emotion. "You can come home now. They're saying he'll probably get the death penalty for Max's murder and your attempted murder."
I feel a mixture of relief and sadness wash over me: relief that I can finally return home but sadness at the thought of my father facing the consequences of his actions. The relationship between my father and I has never been smooth or warm, but still.
How does a man soar so high just to crash so hard. Why did his vision start and end with my death? Couldn’t he have found another way? Was killing me the only option for him?
"Thank you, Father," I manage to choke out, my voice cracking as the reality of the situation begins to sink in.
"Take care of yourself, son," he replies, his voice filled with genuine concern. "And take care of Tony. You two deserve a fresh start . . . yours has been a rocky road indeed."
As the call ends, I turn to Tony, her eyes filled with a mix of melancholy and resignation.
