Chapter Forty: Death Comes Quietly
The door creaked open, and David stepped into the apartment with a measured calm. The air was heavy, thick with tension, and every shadow seemed to bend toward him. Margret stood just inside, her body trembling, every ache of illness and fear sharpened by the presence of the man who had haunted her life for years.
David's eyes scanned the room slowly, deliberately, and when they landed on Margret, there was no anger, no panic—only cold, controlled certainty.
"Margret," he said softly, almost fondly. "It's been a long time."
Margret's lips pressed into a thin line. "I told you… you won't get her."
David smiled faintly. "I already have."
He took a step forward. Margret braced herself, gripping her bag where the camcorder was hidden. This was her final stand. The truth, carefully recorded, remained out of reach, but in her mind, she had already passed the torch to her daughter.
Lucia crouched in the corner, holding the camcorder tight against her chest. Her stomach churned with fear, but she remained silent, knowing that any sound could provoke her father.
David advanced slowly. "You've been clever, Margret. Clever enough to hide… clever enough to survive this long. But cleverness cannot outrun power."
Margret's breath hitched. Her body screamed in protest, illness making each movement agonizing. But she lifted her chin, eyes locked with his. "You can take me… but you will never have the truth."
David's expression didn't change. He raised his hand, and with a swift, practiced motion, the room fell silent except for the metallic click of his resolve.
Margret stumbled backward, chest tightening, pain surging through her body. She fell to the floor, coughing violently. Her hand scraped across the carpet, fingertips brushing the edge of the camcorder's bag, but she could not reach it.
David stood over her, eyes cold and final. "Goodbye, Margret."
And with that, her struggle ended. The room seemed to exhale as if the walls themselves acknowledged the end of a life lived in constant fear and courage.
Lucia's heart pounded. She could hear David's heavy breathing as he approached her. His hand gripped her arm firmly, lifting her to her feet. "Come," he said, voice low and unyielding. "It's time to go home."
Lucia did not resist. Her body was small, fragile, but her mind raced. Margret's final gift—the camcorder, the recordings—was still with her. She felt its weight against her chest and knew that while her mother was gone, the truth remained alive.
David led her out of the apartment, the city lights casting long shadows on the walls as he moved with the precision of a man accustomed to control.
"Stay close," he said, voice sharp, almost fatherly. "You are mine now. And remember… no one escapes me."
Lucia nodded silently, her mind swirling with grief, fear, and a spark of determination. She had lost her mother, the only person who had ever truly protected her. But she carried the video. She carried the truth. And she carried the knowledge that one day, she could strike back.
As the black sedan pulled away into the night, Margret's lifeless body remained behind, quiet, still—but her final act had set the stage for a reckoning that even David could not foresee.
Lucia pressed the camcorder to her chest, her fingers tightening around it. She whispered softly, more to herself than anyone else:
"I will not forget you, Mama. I will finish this. And I will make the world see him for what he truly is."
Outside, the city slept, oblivious to the blood and courage that had marked the night. Inside, the seeds of justice—of vengeance—were quietly taking root.