Chapter 6 - THE CONFESSION IN THE PARKING GARAGE
I did not answer Gage’s message.
Camille instructed me to behave normally while officers moved Kobe to a secure location. We left through an underground service exit and stayed in a protected apartment owned by the city.
Kobe knew something serious was happening.
He sat on the unfamiliar couch holding his damaged crown.
“Is Uncle Gage mad because Aspen got canceled?”
“No.”
“Is this about Dad?”
I looked at him.
Children notice the questions adults try hardest to hide.
“Yes.”
“Did Uncle Gage know him?”
“They worked near each other.”
“Did Dad do something bad?”
“No.”
“Did Uncle Gage?”
I took a careful breath.
“Investigators believe Uncle Gage made choices that may have contributed to your father’s accident.”
Kobe stared at the crown.
“Did he kill him?”
“I don’t know exactly what happened yet.”
That was true.
“He ruined my party because of Dad?”
“He ruined your party because he wanted to distract people and hide something.”
Kobe’s face tightened.
“I hate him.”
“You’re allowed to be angry.”
“Do you hate him?”
“I hate what he did. I’m still deciding what feelings belong to the person.”
He did not fully understand, but neither did I.
Gage had been my little brother before he became the man who endangered my child.
Both truths occupied the same body.
At midnight, Mom received another call.
This time, police traced it to the parking garage beneath Halberg’s former headquarters.
Gage asked to meet me alone.
Camille refused.
I argued that he wanted an audience he believed he could control. We compromised: I would enter wearing a transmitter while tactical officers waited nearby.
The garage was cold and nearly empty.
Gage stood beside the gray SUV.
He looked exhausted. His suit was wrinkled, and blood marked one cuff.
“Where is Sailor?” he asked.
“Safe.”
“With Mom?”
“Under supervision.”
He laughed bitterly.
“So you’ve taken everything.”
“I stopped paying. The rest came from what you did.”
“You think you’re innocent because you document the theft after funding it?”
The accusation hit an uncomfortable truth.
My money supported the appearance that helped him continue.
But knowledge matters.
Consent matters.
“I funded my family,” I said. “I did not authorize fraud.”
“You never asked where the lifestyle came from.”
“I thought it came partly from me.”
“You liked being needed.”
Perhaps I had.
Helping gave me a role in a family that otherwise centered Gage’s achievements.
But dependency was not permission for betrayal.
“What happened to Aaron?” I asked.
Gage looked away.
“Malcolm ordered me to access the vehicle.”
“What did you change?”
“I disabled remote reporting and adjusted steering sensitivity.”
“Did you know it could kill him?”
“No.”
“You threatened him.”
“He was going to destroy everything.”
“What everything?”
“My career. The acquisition. Sailor’s future.”
“Aaron was protecting patients.”
“He could have waited.”
“For more people to be harmed?”
Gage slammed his fist against the SUV.
“You always make morality sound simple because you never had anything worth losing.”
The sentence revealed his deepest illusion.
He saw ordinary work, a rented apartment, and a child’s birthday as evidence I possessed less.
In reality, I had built a life that did not require fraud to sustain it.
“You had a daughter worth protecting,” I said. “Instead, you taught her cruelty could earn prizes.”
His face changed.
“I love Sailor.”
“You used her to pull an alarm.”
“I needed access to Kobe’s backpack.”
“You could have refused Malcolm.”
“He would have exposed me.”
“So you chose my son.”
He lowered his voice.
“I chose survival.”
“No. You chose yourself.”
For several seconds, only the garage ventilation system could be heard.
Then Gage opened the SUV’s rear door.
A man lay inside with his hands bound.
Malcolm Voss.
His face was bruised, but he was conscious.
“I brought you the person who ordered Aaron’s death,” Gage said.
Malcolm spat blood onto the floor.
“He is lying.”
Gage held up a phone containing recordings.
He wanted immunity in exchange for Malcolm and the complete Halberg archive.
Camille’s voice sounded through my hidden earpiece.
Keep him talking.
“Why kidnap him?” I asked.
“Because federal agents move slowly.”
“You were planning to cross into Canada.”
“I needed leverage.”
Malcolm began laughing.
“Tell her the rest.”
Gage’s jaw tightened.
Malcolm looked at me.
“Your brother did not merely alter Aaron’s car. He followed him during the storm.”
My body became cold.
A traffic camera image appeared on Malcolm’s phone.
Gage’s vehicle was behind Aaron’s minutes before the crash.
Malcolm continued.
“When Aaron regained control after the first software interference, Gage struck his rear bumper.”
Gage shouted, “That isn’t what happened!”
“You rammed him.”
“He was stopping!”
“You pushed him across the median.”
Gage pulled a gun from his coat.
Tactical officers moved.
Malcolm grabbed Gage’s wrist.
The gun fired into the ceiling.
Police flooded the garage.
Gage was taken down and handcuffed.
As officers pulled him away, he looked at me.
“I didn’t mean for him to die.”
“You meant to stop him.”
“Yes.”
Aaron’s death was not an abstract consequence.
My brother had been driving the second car.
And our mother had known more than she admitted.
A recovered voicemail showed Gage called her seven minutes after the crash.
May you like
His words were clear.
“Mom, I did something terrible. You have to help me.”
