Chapter 8 - The Confrontation in Port Angeles
Five days later, Julian tracked the coordinates Marcus had left on a public subpoena down to the coastal bluffs of Washington. He arrived at the edge of the cedar cottage just as the morning sun broke through the Pacific mist, illuminating the wild blue ocean below.
Nora sat on the wraparound porch, wrapped in a thick knit cardigan, her visible baby bump bathed in the golden morning light.
Julian approached slowly, his hands empty, looking broken and aged beyond his years. He knelt on the wet gravel at the base of the porch stairs.
“I turned them in,” Julian said quietly. “Camille was arrested at O’Hare trying to board a private jet to Zurich. My mother was taken from the penthouse this morning. I gave the DOJ every server, every encrypted backup, and the toxicology reports.”
Nora looked down at him without hatred, without anger, but with an absolute, terrifying indifference.
“Do you want an award, Julian?” she asked softly. “Doing the right thing after you’ve ruined everything doesn't make you a hero. It just makes you accountable.”
May you like
“I don’t want an award,” Julian whispered, tears tracing through the gravel dust on his cheeks. “I just wanted you to know that the monsters are gone. You’re safe.”
“I was safe the second I took off that ring,” Nora replied, standing gracefully. “You still don’t understand. Eleanor and Camille didn’t destroy our marriage. You did, every time you looked away because it was easier than standing up for the woman you promised to protect.”
