Chapter 13 - The Unraveling of Arthur Pendelton
While Maya sat in the quiet dusk of the hospital balcony, three floors below in the high-security ICU wing, a different kind of reckoning was taking place.
Arthur Pendelton lay hooked up to a ventilator, his shattered collarbone and cracked ribs strapped tightly in heavy medical tape. Two armed state troopers stood guard outside his glass door.
The door slid open, and Detective Kane walked in, carrying a heavy leather briefcase. He didn't look at Arthur’s bruised face; he walked straight to the bedside table and set the briefcase down with a heavy thud.
"Mr. Pendelton," Kane said flatly. "I know you can hear me."
Arthur’s eyelids fluttered open, his bloodshot eyes darting frantically around the room before settling on the detective. He tried to speak, but the plastic tube in his throat produced only a dry, rattling wheeze.
"Save your energy," Kane instructed, pulling a stack of legal documents from the briefcase. "The State Attorney has just frozen all twenty-four of your offshore shell accounts in the Cayman Islands. Your law license was suspended three hours ago by the State Bar."
Arthur’s chest heaved against the restraints, his heart monitor spiking into a rapid, frantic rhythm: BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP.
"Furthermore," Kane continued, leaning over the bed, "Clara Mercer regained consciousness twenty minutes ago."
Arthur froze, his eyes widening in sheer terror.
"She gave a full, sworn statement to the district attorney," Kane lied smoothly, his face an unreadable mask. "She told us everything, Arthur. She said the poison scheme was your idea. She said you threatened to expose her past if she didn't help you eliminate Maya and frame Ryan."
Arthur let out a muffled, strangled scream against the ventilator tube, shaking his head frantically in denial. He reached out with his one uninjured hand, his fingers clawing at Kane’s coat sleeve, trying to write words in the air.
"It doesn't matter what you say now, Arthur," Kane said softly, pulling his coat away from the man's grip. "In the eyes of the law, you're the architect of a murder conspiracy. And Clara just threw you under the bus to save her own neck."
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Kane packed his papers back into his briefcase, snapped the brass latches shut, and turned toward the door.
"Enjoy the ICU while it lasts, counselor," Kane called over his shoulder. "Your new home at Blackwood State Penitentiary is waiting for you."
