11. Amanda
— ? —
Amanda
The wire is cold against my skin.
Roman tapes it under my shirt, his fingers careful, clinical. This is not the way he usually touches me. This is mission mode. War mode.
“The range is about five hundred feet,” he says. “I’ll be in the truck, parked at the end of the driveway. If anything goes wrong - anything at all - you say the word and I’m there in thirty seconds.”
“What’s the word?”
“Whatever you want it to be.”
I think for a moment. “Temporary.”
Roman’s jaw tightens. He remembers. The word Julian used. The word that broke me.
“Temporary,” he repeats. “Say that, and I come in. No questions.”
“Okay.”
“One more thing.” His hands go still on the tape. “The second you walk through that door, his people will scan you. Julian sweeps everyone - it’s how he’s survived this long. When they find the wire, they’ll think they’ve won.” His eyes hold mine. “Let them.”
“And if they find more than the wire?”
“They won’t. The wire’s the only thing they’re meant to find.” He doesn’t explain. I don’t ask. I trust him.
He finishes with the wire. Steps back. Looks at me.
“You don’t have to do this alone.”
“Yes, I do.” I meet his eyes. “He spent three years making me feel small. Making me feel like nothing without him. I need to face him - really face him - and show him what I became when he threw me away.”
“What you became is magnificent.”
“I don’t feel magnificent.”
“You will.” He brushes a strand of hair from my face. “After today. You will.”
***
The gates are closed this time.
I press the intercom. Wait.
“Who is it?” A bored security guard.
“Amanda Vance. I’m here to see my husband.”
A long pause. Static crackle.
Then the gates swing open.
***
Julian is waiting in the study.
The house is silent as I walk through it. No staff. No security shadowing me down the hall. He’s cleared them all out - whatever he intends to happen in this room, he wants no witnesses.
It’s his favorite room - walls of leather-bound books he’s never read, antique globe he bought at auction for the appearance of it, mahogany desk that costs more than most cars. He’s standing by the window when I walk in, backlit by gray afternoon light, a glass of scotch in his hand.
“Amanda.” He doesn’t turn around. “I have to admit, I’m impressed. Most women would have fled by now.”
“I’m not most women.”
“No.” He turns. Studies me with those cold eyes. “No, I suppose you’re not.”
The room feels smaller than I remember.
Or maybe I’m just bigger. Two years of prison will do that - strip away everything soft, leave nothing but bone and sinew and rage.
“Drink?” Julian gestures to the bar.
“No.”
“Still suspicious. Still waiting for the poison in the glass.” He laughs softly. “I taught you well.”
“You taught me nothing.” I move further into the room. Keep my voice steady. “Everything I learned, I learned in spite of you.”
“Is that what you tell yourself? That you’re a self-made woman?
That you climbed out of the gutter on your own merit?
” He shakes his head. “You were a secretary, Amanda. A glorified filing clerk. I gave you everything - the clothes, the status, the name. Without me, you’d still be scheduling conference calls and fetching coffee. ”
“Without you, I wouldn’t have spent two years in prison for something I didn’t do.”
The corner of his mouth twitches.
“Ah. That.”
He moves to the desk. Sets down his scotch. Picks up a cigar from a box that probably cost a thousand dollars.
“You know the interesting thing about prisons?” He clips the end. Lights it. The smell of expensive tobacco fills the room. “They’re designed to break people. Strip away identity. Reduce human beings to numbers and routines.” He takes a long drag. “And yet here you are. Unbroken.”
“Disappointed?”
“Curious.” He leans against the desk. “What sustained you? Faith? Hope? The dream of revenge?”
“The truth.”
“The truth.” He laughs again. “The truth is whatever I say it is. I thought you’d learned that by now.”
“I learned that you’re a liar. A fraud. A man who can only feel powerful by destroying others.”
“Careful, darling.”
“I learned that you framed your own wife for murder. That you wiped security footage, bribed witnesses, manufactured evidence. That you stood in a courtroom and watched me be convicted for a crime your mistress committed.”
Julian’s eyes narrow. Just slightly. The first crack.
“Accusations without proof are just noise.”
“Who said I don’t have proof?”
He goes very still.
The cigar pauses halfway to his lips. His eyes scan my face, looking for tells, for weakness, for the bluff he’s certain must be there.
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?”
“The servers were wiped. The backup footage was destroyed. Every witness who mattered has been handled.” He sets down the cigar. “You have nothing.”
“I have the photograph.”
His jaw tightens. “That again.”
“The one the society photographer took. The night of your birthday party. Me, on the front steps, at 10:47 PM. In a silk gown and four-inch ankle-strap heels.” I let the words sink in.
“The timestamp proves I left on foot, Julian. And those heels - the ones it took me ten minutes to buckle? There’s no way I could have walked a mile in them, gone back for my car, and committed murder. The timeline doesn’t work.”
A flicker of unease crosses his face.
“A photograph isn’t proof of anything. It just shows you were at the door at a certain time.”
“It shows I wasn’t in a car. It shows I was wearing shoes designed for standing still, not driving. And when that evidence is combined with witness testimony-”
“Witnesses you don’t have anymore.”
“-and your own confession-”
“I haven’t confessed to anything.”
“Not yet.”
He laughs.
But it’s different this time. Brittle. A little too loud.
“This is your plan? Come to my house, make vague threats, hope I incriminate myself?” He spreads his arms wide. “I’ve been playing this game since before you learned how to type a memo. You can’t out-maneuver me.”
“I don’t need to out-maneuver you.” I take a step closer. “I just need you to keep talking.”
“About what?”
“About how clever you were. How perfectly you framed me. How you wiped the servers and scared off the witnesses and turned my own mother against me.” Another step.
“You’re dying to brag about it, Julian. I can see it in your eyes.
You got away with the perfect crime, and nobody knows how brilliant you were. ”
“I’m not going to-”
“Vivienne was driving that night. We both know it. She took my keys, got behind the wheel drunk, and killed Thomas Mercer. Then she called you, crying and hysterical, and you - what? Sprang into action? Saw an opportunity?”
His jaw tightens.
“You’re guessing.”
“I’m remembering. The security footage that disappeared.
The phone records that were altered. The way everyone in this house suddenly forgot what they saw.
” I’m close enough now to smell his cologne.
The same cologne he was wearing the night he destroyed me.
“You moved so fast, Julian. Within hours, I was the suspect. Within days, I was the monster. How did you do it?”
“I didn’t-”
“You must have had people in place already. At the police station. In the DA’s office. You must have been preparing for something like this for years.”
“You’re delusional.”
“Or maybe you just got lucky. Maybe Vivienne’s accident was exactly the opportunity you needed to get rid of a wife who’d outlived her usefulness.” I tilt my head. “Is that what happened? Were you already planning to discard me? Was the murder charge just... convenient?”
His mask cracks.
Just for a second. Just long enough for me to see the real Julian underneath - the cold, calculating predator who views other people as pieces on a board.
“You want to know the truth?” His voice drops. Dangerous. “Fine. The truth is, you were always going to be destroyed. One way or another. You were useful for a while - good at logistics, good at taking orders, good at making me look respectable. But you were never permanent. You were never enough.”
“Enough for what?”
“Enough to matter.” He steps closer. Close enough that I can see the pulse in his throat.
“When Vivienne called me that night, crying about the accident, I saw exactly what it was - a gift. A way to remove you cleanly, permanently, without the mess of a divorce. All I had to do was make a few calls. Move a few pieces. And suddenly, my problematic wife was a convicted killer, and I was the sympathetic victim.”
Got you.
The words are on the tape. Every damning syllable.
But Julian isn’t finished.
“You think you’ve won something here?” He laughs in my face. “You have nothing. A photograph of shoes. A recanted witness. And now, what - a recording? Of a private conversation in my own home?”
My blood goes cold.
“How did you-”
His hand shoots out. Grabs the front of my shirt. Rips it open.
The wire tumbles free.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t check?” His grip shifts to my throat. Not choking - not yet - but the threat is clear. “You were scanned at the gate - my people flagged the wire before you reached the front door. I’ve known since you walked in.”
I can’t breathe.
“Then why-”
“Why did I talk?” His smile is cruel. “Because it doesn’t matter. Because by tomorrow night, I’ll be in a country with no extradition treaty, and you’ll be exactly where you’ve always been - beneath my notice.”
His grip tightens.
“But first,” he says softly, “I’m going to make sure you understand something. You will never beat me. You will never outrun me. You will never be anything more than a minor inconvenience I stepped over on my way to-”
The door explodes inward.
Roman.
He moves like violence given form.
One second Julian has me by the throat. The next, he’s on the floor, Roman’s knee on his chest, blood streaming from his nose.
“I told you.” Roman’s voice is quiet. Deadly. “Touch her and die.”
“Roman-” I’m gasping. “Roman, wait-”
“Give me one reason.”
“The recording. We need the recording.”
Roman’s hand is around Julian’s throat now. Squeezing. Julian’s face is turning red.
“He knew about the wire. He said-”
“I heard what he said.” Roman’s grip doesn’t loosen. “I heard everything.”
Julian’s eyes go wide.
“The wire was a decoy.” Roman smiles. It’s not a nice smile.
“You’re right, little brother. Your security is good.
They found the device immediately, just like I knew they would.
But while they were busy patting themselves on the back, they didn’t notice the second transmitter. The one in her earring.”
Julian’s mouth opens. Closes. No sound comes out.
“Every word, Julian. We have every word.” Roman releases his throat, stands, pulls me to my feet. “Your confession. Your arrogance. Your detailed explanation of exactly how you framed your wife for murder.”
“You - you can’t-”
“It’s already been transmitted. Stored on three different servers. Sent to my lawyer, a journalist friend, and the DA’s office.” Roman wraps his arm around me. Protective. Possessive. “By tomorrow morning, it’ll be on every news station in the country.”
Julian scrambles backward. His nose is still bleeding. His perfect suit is ruined.
“I’ll deny everything. I’ll say it was coerced-”
“You’ll say whatever you want. It won’t matter.” I step forward. Look down at the man who destroyed my life. “It’s over, Julian. You’re done.”
“This isn’t - you can’t-”
“Yes,” I say. “I can.”
***
We’re almost to the door when I hear him move.
I turn.
Julian has a gun.