Chapter 4 - THE DESPERATE GAMBIT
By Thursday morning, Trevor Miller’s world had completely imploded.
He sat in the interrogation room of the central police precinct, his hands cuffed to the metal table. His face was pale, his hair disheveled, and the expensive navy suit he had worn two days ago was now wrinkled and stained. His dislocated thumb was wrapped in a temporary splint, throbbing with a dull, incessant pain.
The door clicked open, and his court-appointed public defender walked in, throwing a thick stack of papers onto the table.
"Where is Arthur?" Trevor demanded instantly, his voice hoarse from yelling. "Where is my private attorney?! Why am I still here?!"
"Arthur Kingsley filed a restraining order against you yesterday afternoon," the public defender said flatly, sitting down across from him. "He also handed over all your internal firm records to the District Attorney. You’ve been formally indicted on fourteen counts of wire fraud, embezzlement, grand larceny, and felony assault."
"No... no!" Trevor stammered, grabbing his hair with his uninjured hand. "That's impossible! I have bail! My savings account—"
"Your savings accounts have been frozen by federal order," the defender interrupted ruthlessly. "Vance Enterprises submitted proof of illicit offshore transfers tracing back to an estate embezzlement scheme three years ago. You’re broke, Trevor. You don't even have enough money to pay for a phone call."
Trevor collapsed back into his chair, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "This is Sadi... it’s all Sadi... she’s doing this to get back at me!"
"The woman you kicked?" The public defender sneered with utter disgust. "She doesn't have to do anything. You did this to yourself. But you do have one visitor. They’ve granted ten minutes."
The door opened again, and Trevor looked up, a faint ray of hope flickering in his chest. "Chloe? Did Chloe come back?"
It wasn't Chloe.
Stepping into the gray, sterile room was a woman dressed in a crisp, ivory-white tailored pantsuit. A heavy gold chain rested around her neck, and her dark hair was swept back into an elegant, immaculate chignon.
It was Sadi.
She walked in with an effortless grace that filled the cramped room. Behind her stood Viktor, who positioned himself by the door, his arms crossed over his massive chest, staring down at Trevor like an executioner waiting for a signal.
Trevor stared at her, his throat completely dry. "Sadi..."
Sadi didn't sit down. She stood at the end of the metal table, resting her hands lightly on the back of the metal chair.
"You look tired, Trevor," she said softly. Her voice was serene, completely untroubled by the chaos surrounding him.
"Sadi... please," Trevor wept, sliding off his chair and dropping to his knees on the linoleum floor, pushing his cuffed hands toward her in a desperate gesture of supplication. "I was wrong! I was a monster! I stole Martha’s money... yes, I admit it! I was desperate! I was afraid of being a nobody forever!"
"We were working together, Trevor," Sadi said, looking down at him without a shred of emotion. "We were a team. I would have given you that money if you had asked. I would have supported you through anything. But you stole it, left me to starve, and then kicked me like a dog when you saw me again."
"I was stupid! I was arrogant!" Trevor cried out, tears streaming down his grimy cheeks. "Please... ask Roman to drop the charges! I'll give everything back! I’ll sell my apartment! I’ll work as a clerk! I’ll give you every cent I make for the rest of my life! Just don't let them send me to prison! You know what they do to disgraced lawyers in prison!"
Sadi took a slow, deep breath. She reached into her leather handbag and pulled out a single sheet of paper, placing it on the metal table.
"What... what is that?" Trevor gasped, wiping his nose with his sleeve.
"It’s a full confession and asset forfeiture agreement," Sadi explained calmly. "You sign over all your remaining assets—your car, your offshore accounts, your pension—to the Martha Jenkins Charitable Trust for Homeless Women. And you plead guilty to all charges without contesting them in court."
Trevor blinked, his heart sinking into stomach-churning terror. "If I sign that... I’ll serve at least ten years!"
"If you don't sign it," Sadi replied, her eyes narrowing into two shards of cold steel, "Roman will step in. He will ensure that your trial is moved to a federal jurisdiction where the mandatory minimum is twenty-five years. And he will personally ensure that every inmate in that facility knows exactly who you are and what you did to his wife."
Trevor shuddered violently. The threat wasn't loud. It was delivered with the absolute certainty of a death sentence.
He looked at the paper. He looked at the pen Viktor casually laid beside it.
Trevor’s trembling fingers reached for the pen. He didn't have a choice. He had never had a choice from the moment he raised his shoe against the woman who had once loved him.
With a shaking hand, Trevor signed his name on the dotted line, sealing his own destruction.
Sadi picked up the paper, blew softly on the fresh ink, and placed it neatly back into her handbag.
"Thank you, Trevor," Sadi said quietly, turning toward the door. "You finally paid your rent."
"Sadi... wait!" Trevor called out as Viktor opened the door for her. "Do you... do you love him? Roman? Or are you just with him for the power?"
Sadi paused at the doorway. She turned her head slightly, a small, genuine smile touching her lips—a smile of absolute peace.
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"He washed my feet when I was hurt, Trevor," Sadi said softly. "You kicked me when I was down. Roman gave me a kingdom. You gave me a cardboard box. I love him with every breath in my body."
She walked out, leaving Trevor alone in the cold, gray room, his weeping echoing off the concrete walls.
