Chapter 8 - The Confrontation
The rain was relentless as they crossed the bridge into Bridgeport. St. Jude’s Cathedral loomed out of the darkness like a jagged tooth, its stained-glass windows dark and cracked.
Lucas stepped out of the vehicle, his long black coat billowing in the wind. Underneath, he wore the wire, and his hand rested near the grip of his hidden pistol. He walked up the stone steps of the cathedral, his boots echoing hollowly in the empty, cavernous sanctuary.
The air inside was freezing, smelling of dust, old wax, and damp rot.
"Ah, the prodigal son returns," Marcus’s voice echoed from the altar.
Marcus was sitting in the front pew, flanked by three heavily armed men. He rose slowly, a cigar smoldering between his fingers.
"You look well, Lucas. Life in the suburbs agrees with you," Marcus mocked, stepping into the center aisle. "Though you look a bit lonely. Where is the lovely Sarah? I was hoping to thank her for taking such good care of my favorite nephew."
"Leave her out of this, Marcus," Lucas said, his voice steady, though his adrenaline was surging. "You wanted me. I'm here. What is the price for my freedom?"
"Your freedom?" Marcus laughed, a cold, dry sound. "There is no price, Lucas. You broke the oath. You thought you could take the Moretti legacy—the millions we laundered through the Bridgeport docks—and use it to buy a clean conscience. I want the offshore accounts. Every single cent."
"And if I give them to you?" Lucas asked, taking a slow step forward, ensuring the microphone caught every word. "You'll just slip back into the shadows? The FBI is already hunting you, Marcus. You're a escaped felon. You're a ghost."
"The FBI doesn't know where I am, and they never will," Marcus boasted, stepping closer, his face twisted in a smug grin. "I have contacts in the federal marshal's office who helped me walk out of that prison. By tomorrow, I’ll be on a yacht to South America with your money, and you’ll be buried under the floorboards of this holy place."
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In the command van two blocks away, Sarah gasped as she heard the confession clear as day.
"We have it," Frank whispered, his fingers flying across his keyboard as he routed the audio directly to the federal task force. "We have the escape confession and the corrupt marshal lead. Move, move, move!"
