The police lights flash across the pier, staining the wet concrete in red and blue.
Victor Salazar is wheeled into the ambulance, his body frail but alive.
Margaret Lawson stands between two officers now, her wrists bound, though her composure remains intact—like someone who hasn’t fully accepted the idea that the game might actually be over.
Marcus stretches his shoulders slightly, his voice dry. “Well,” he sighs, “that escalated from corporate drama to attempted murder remarkably fast.”
No one laughs.
Because Adrian still hasn’t let go of my hand.
The warmth of his fingers wrapped around mine steadies something deep inside me.
The detective approaches again. “We’ll need formal statements from everyone involved.”
Adrian nods calmly. “You’ll have them.”
Margaret’s voice cuts in sm
