Chapter 8 - The Prosecutor's Trap
"Mr. Vance is currently detained at federal headquarters downtown," Arthur Vance announced, his voice carrying the smooth, rehearsed authority of a seasoned courtroom prosecutor. He stepped into the suite, his cold eyes sweeping over the luxurious room before landing directly on me. "And as for you, Ms. Vance—no relation, I presume—you are currently harboring a material witness in an ongoing federal murder investigation."
I stepped instinctively in front of Leo’s bed, shielding the boy from view. "You have no right to barge in here! Where is Dominic?"
"Dominic is discovering that not even his billions can buy a federal judge when there is a signed eyewitness affidavit placing him at the scene of Marcus Moretti's execution," Arthur replied smoothly, pulling a paper from his briefcase. "This is a federal search and seizure warrant for the entire estate. And you, young lady, are coming downtown with me for questioning."
"You're not taking her anywhere," Mason said, his voice dropping into a low, menacing growl as he subtly shifted his weight, his hand hovering near his jacket pocket.
"Try it, Mr. Reed," Arthur smiled coldly, nodding toward the two federal marshals who immediately unholstered their sidearms. "Interfering with federal officers is a twenty-year felony. Do you really want to start a shootout in front of a six-year-old child?"
I looked back at Leo, whose eyes were wide with terror, tears welling up in his dark lashes. The nightmare was repeating itself. The violence, the police, the fear—it was all coming back.
"I'll go," I said clearly, stepping away from the bed. "Just... leave Leo alone. He's a child. He has nothing to do with this."
"Willa, no!" Leo cried out, starting to sob.
"No, you won't," a voice thundered from the doorway.
We all whipped around.
Dominic stood in the doorway. His suit coat was gone, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his tie was loosened. He looked tired, but the look in his gray eyes was pure, unadulterated fury. Behind him, three of his personal legal counsels stood alongside a federal judge I recognized immediately—Judge Elizabeth Sterling, one of the most respected appellate judges in the state of Illinois.
Arthur Vance’s smug expression instantly vanished. "Dominic? How did you... bail hasn't even been set!"
"Bail isn't required when the warrant you're waving is legally void," Judge Sterling stepped forward, her voice sharp and authoritative as she held up a stamped court document. "Mr. Vance's legal team filed an emergency writ of habeas corpus thirty minutes ago, Counsel. Furthermore, the so-called 'eyewitness affidavit' from Salvo has already been recanted under oath after our investigators proved Salvo was three miles away at a bar when the homicide occurred."
Arthur turned pale. "That's... that's impossible. Salvo swore—"
"Salvo lied because your office offered him a plea deal to manufacture a case against Dominic Vance," Judge Sterling finished coldly. "And as for the search warrant? Your affidavit relied on fabricated cell tower pings that my clerk flagged as fraudulent ten minutes ago. You are standing on private property under false pretenses, Mr. Vance."
Dominic walked slowly across the room, stopping directly in front of the assistant U.S. attorney. The air in the suite grew heavy, suffocating with tension.
"You wanted a war, Arthur?" Dominic whispered, his voice dangerously quiet. "You just brought a knife to a nuclear strike. Get out of my house before I have my lawyers sue you, your office, and the federal government into bankruptcy."
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Arthur Vance swallowed hard, his professional composure completely shattered. He glared at Dominic for a long, venomous second, then turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, followed closely by his humiliated marshals.
The heavy oak door slammed shut behind them.
