I'll Make Them All Pay; A General's Revenge

Chapter 11..back home

Morning came quietly, the sunlight spilling across the Greyson Hotel in a soft, golden haze. It brushed against the tall windows, pooling across the cream carpet, and for a moment, the world felt unusually still. I moved through my usual morning routine almost automatically, the rhythm of brushing my teeth, washing my face, and straightening my hair grounding me in something normal after the storm of the past few days. Yet, nothing felt entirely ordinary. The coffee on the table smelled faintly of warmth and comfort, but even that small pleasure seemed distant.

A buzz interrupted the quiet. I reached for my phone. Jeff.

“The plane is ready if you want to leave this morning,” his message read.

I typed back immediately: Yes. Come pick me up in thirty minutes.

The bath was ready when I entered, steam curling into the air. I sank into the warmth, letting it wash over me. It was more than relaxation—it was a balm, dissolving the tension in my muscles, the tight coil in my chest from the events I had set into motion. I closed my eyes, letting my thoughts drift, replaying nothing and everything all at once. The quiet allowed me to breathe fully for the first time in hours.

When I finally rose, the mirror reflected a composed Videl, but my eyes still betrayed the echo of the storm outside. I wrapped myself in a soft robe and picked up the phone to order breakfast. The tray arrived moments later: freshly brewed coffee, lightly toasted bread, scrambled eggs that smelled faintly of butter, and a small dish of fruit. I ate slowly, savoring each bite, feeling the mundane comfort of a normal morning, even as my mind wandered to the news that would soon reach the world: Eric Walker, the man who thought himself untouchable, would face the consequences of his own arrogance.

Before the thirty minutes were up, Jeff messaged again: Outside.

I grabbed my bag and made my way downstairs, the familiar click of my heels echoing softly in the marble lobby. The car waited, sleek and black, its leather seats cool against my palms. The drive to the airstrip was quiet, the city slowly waking around me, its usual buzz muted in the morning haze. At the tarmac, the private jet gleamed under the sun’s early light. I stepped aboard, Jeff staying behind to handle the lingering details of the Bennett case.

The cabin was serene, the hum of the engines comforting. I watched South Town shrink beneath us, the chaos and noise of the last few days dissolving into the distance. An hour later, Greeneland welcomed me with crisp, familiar air. The driver waited, the city streets rolling past, lush and calm, grounding me in a way South Town never could.

At the estate, the house staff greeted me warmly.

“Welcome home, Miss Videl,” they said in unison, their voices soft and caring, a chorus of ordinary life.

The house felt alive and quiet at the same time. Everyone else was still at work. I went straight to my room, kicked off my shoes, and let myself fall onto the bed, relishing the comfort of familiar surroundings. For a few moments, I allowed myself to be just Videl, not General Vee, not the woman who had just orchestrated the downfall of the Walkers.

The phone buzzed, once. Then again. A flurry of notifications stacked across the screen. I opened the first one.

[Breaking News] WALKER MEDICAL CENTER RAIDED

[Head Doctor Arrested Following Illegal Procedures]

I tapped to watch the coverage. The news anchor’s calm voice narrated over the footage:

“In an unprecedented investigation, authorities raided Walker Medical Center early this morning. The head doctor has been taken into custody, accused of performing illegal procedures without patient consent. Sources confirm that Eric Walker, CEO of the Walker Group, was present during the raid.”

The camera cut to a live feed. Eric Walker, flanked by officers, struggled against the handcuffs. His expensive suit was torn, his face etched with panic. Beside him, his mother clutched his arm, her tears streaming freely. Another woman, presumably Erica, pressed against the barricade, her voice trembling as she cried, “Please! Let him go!”

Then Eric’s voice cut through, raw and desperate:

“You don’t understand! Do you know who I am? I am Eric Walker!”

He looked into the camera, eyes wild, as though the world could still bend to his will. And then, his voice faltered, breaking into something almost personal, intimate, frantic:

“Videl! You can’t do this to me! Videl!”

I stared at the screen, unmoving. The arrogance, the sense of untouchable power—it was gone. Stripped away, leaving only a man exposed, frightened, and entirely human.

I set the phone down, exhaling slowly. The revenge was complete. The Walkers had fallen. Eric had finally been forced to confront the consequences of his actions.

I leaned back against the bed, letting the calm settle over me like a blanket. Outside, life went on. The city moved, oblivious. But inside, the world had shifted entirely. Justice had been delivered. And I was home.