CHAPTER 6: THE DEAD MAN’S TALE
Arthur Vance stood before me—alive, breathing, and looking ten years younger than the frail man I had buried eight years ago.
"How... how are you alive?" I stammered, my vision blurring with sudden tears.
"Get in the car, Clara," Arthur said quietly, opening the rear door of the SUV. "We have five minutes before the press realizes who I am."
Inside the tinted cabin, as federal agents handcuffed Julian and Eleanor on the terrace behind us, my father handed me a bottle of water and a clean towel.
"I had to die, Clara," Arthur explained, his voice low and solemn. "Eight years ago, Eleanor and Julian weren't working alone. They were fronting a money-laundering syndicate for international cartels. If I had exposed them then, they would have killed you to silence me. The only way to keep you safe was to fake my death with the help of Federal Protection, go underground, and let them build a paper trail big enough to destroy their entire network."
"You let me grieve you for eight years!" I yelled, anger spiking through my shock.
"And it broke my heart every single day," Arthur said softly, reaching out to take my hand. "But I needed you away from them, safe, building a life. And when you uncovered their shell companies on your own three months ago and entered their inner circle to fight them... I knew it was time to close the trap."
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He gestured out the window. Outside, FBI agents were loading Julian into the back of a van.
"Julian thought he was marrying a victim," Arthur added with a proud smile. "He didn't realize he was marrying the trap."
