For several interminable seconds, no one moved.

He heard only silence.

Then the call disconnected.

Damian lowered the receiver.

For the first time in years—

His composure fractured.

He realized the tables had turned.

And this time…

He was no longer the only one making moves.

By sunrise, the attempted murder at the Sterling Medical Center had become the lead national news story.

Outside the hospital, satellite news vans lined the streets.

Television anchors speculated on the mysterious assault of billionaire philanthropist Marcus Thorne’s pregnant wife. Reporters spoke cautiously, careful not to air any details that hadn’t yet been released by the FBI.

However, inside the hospital, the truth moved far faster than the headlines.

Special Agent Rebecca Collins tossed a thick file onto the conference table.

“We are convening a federal grand jury.”

Marcus looked up.

“Already?”

Rebecca nodded.

“The surveillance footage.”

“The financial records.”

“The hired hitman.”

“Together, they provide more than enough probable cause to unseal an indictment.”

David Sterling remained cautious.

“Enough for an investigation.”

“Not enough for a conviction.”

Rebecca agreed.

“Which is why we still need a witness.”

Marcus narrowed his eyes.

“Isabella.”

Across town, Isabella Rossi sat alone inside a federal holding cell.

The elegant red evening gown she had worn to the gala had been replaced by a drab grey jumpsuit.

For the first time in years, no designer cosmetics could conceal the exhaustion under her eyes.

No luxury jewelry caught the light.

Her performance had no audience.

Only silence.

The heavy steel door slid open.

Rebecca walked in, holding a tablet.

She placed it on the table without uttering a single word.

Hospital footage began playing across the screen.

Every shove.

Every calculated step.

Every lie.

Every second.

Isabella watched in complete silence.

Once the video finished, Rebecca slid another document across the table.

Bank statements.

Offshore transfers.

Wire slips.

Monthly retainers.

Every single one was traced back to shell corporations controlled by Damian Voss.

Rebecca finally spoke.

“He paid you.”

Isabella didn’t answer.

“You assaulted a pregnant woman.”

Silence.

“You helped cover up federal financial crimes.”

Still nothing.

Rebecca leaned forward.

“The hitman who tried to kill Khloé last night?”

She paused.

“He wasn’t sent to protect you.”

“He was sent because you failed.”

For the first time—

Isabella looked up.

“What?”

Rebecca quietly opened another folder.

Inside were flight manifests.

Encrypted text logs.

Private security retainers.

“The moment you were taken into custody…”

“…Damian Voss booked a private charter to Switzerland.”

Isabella stared at the photos.

“He…”

Rebecca nodded.

“He cut you loose.”

Silence filled the small room.

Then Rebecca delivered the final blow.

“The FBI intercepted one of his encrypted transmissions.”

She read aloud, slowly and deliberately.

“‘If Rossi talks, make sure she never makes it to the witness stand.'”

Those words shattered whatever remaining hope Isabella was clinging to.

Her breath hitched.

“No…”

Rebecca held her gaze.

“You’re expendable.”

“You always were.”

Finally, real tears spilled from Isabella’s eyes.

Not the carefully rehearsed tears she had put on for Marcus.

Genuine ones.

“This isn’t what I wanted.”

Rebecca replied calmly.

“Then help us put an end to it.”

A few hours later, Marcus went back to check on Khloé.

She was sitting up in bed for the first time since the attack.

“The baby kicked,” she said with a faint smile.

Marcus gently placed his hand on her belly.

A tiny, distinct flutter pushed back against his palm.

For the first time in days, they both smiled.

Then David walked in.

His expression made it clear that the moment of peace would be brief.

“Isabella agreed to cooperate.”

Marcus stood up.

“What did she say?”

David looked him straight in the eyes.

“Damian Voss didn’t just embezzle charitable funds.”

“He ordered the executions of three people who tried to blow the whistle on him.”

Marcus felt the temperature in the room plunge.

David continued.

“And according to Isabella…”

“…Khloé was supposed to be number four.”

Disclaimer: This story is fictional and created for entertainment purposes only.
Any names, characters, places, or events are fictitious or used fictitiously.
No real person or organization is intended to be portrayed.