Page 83 of Downfall

She laughs, and it comes out a little unhinged. “No, just a concussion from hitting my fucking head on the ground.”

Marshall doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t show any emotion toward her other than irritation. “You’re done here, Claire. I shouldn’t have kept you around after that stunt with the police. Get out of my office.”

That devious smirk slips back into place. “Oh, but then how would you have kept me quiet all this time? Keep your enemies closer, right?”

My mouth hangs open, but Declan doesn’t loosen his grip on his father’s shirt. If anything, he holds it tighter.

The domestic assault charge didn’t involve his mom. That’s not to say that he never did anything to her, just that, unlike Claire, she never called the police.

“Why do you think I went out to lunch with Nicole every Friday? She was shaking like a leaf yesterday. It didn’t take much for her to spill her guts all over the floor right there at the Baybridge Inn.” She turns to me. “They have the best Cobb salad.”

“What is she talking about, Dad?” Declan shakes his father, pulling him away from the wall and slamming him back into it when he doesn’t immediately answer.

“Get the fuck out of here, Claire,” Marshall snarls, but she ignores him, sitting in one of the plush leather chairs in the corner of the room instead.

“No, I think I’ll stay and watch this next part,” she says, pasting on a sweet smile and crossing her legs.

“Why was Nicole upset, Marshall?” Declan asks again, and the switch from ‘dad’ to his first name doesn’t come as a shock. If anything, I’m more surprised he ever called that man ‘dad’ to begin with.

“You think I’m that dumb?” Marshall sneers, his irritation leveling up to anger. “You think I don’t know your little girlfriend is probably recording this whole conversation?”

“Wife,” Declan corrects him. “She’s my wife.”

Marshall grits his teeth, which are still stained with blood from his lip. “You really should have left this alone, Declan. I have no need for you anymore. If you wanted to play house with her, that was your problem. She was useless to me. Her own father didn’t even trust her with his company. He left it to his fucking brother. I left you alone and moved on to your sister, but the stupid bitch had to start digging around.”

My stomach falls, not because of his words, but because of what Declan’s going to do to him. Marshall flashes a smug grin, which is almost worse than if he stayed angry. “You sure are saying a lot for someone so convinced he’s being recorded.”

“You can’t do anything to me, Declan.” His voice is calm again, eerily so. “I can say whatever I want and you can’t do a fucking thing. Want to know why?” Declan’s grin disappears, his eyes going dark. “Because you’re weak. You’re pathetic. You have been since you were little. I blame your mother. Not that it matters. I will always be able to control you, even when you think I can’t. Nothing has changed.” Pure black swallows the last bits of amber in Declan’s eyes.

“Declan, no!” I call out, but it’s too late. He lifts his father up by the shirt until his perfectly shined shoes are dangling above the floor and he punches him in the face, once, twice, three times, a sickening crunch echoing off the walls with the final blow.

“That’s for trying to kill my wife,” he growls.

I rush over to grab him before he murders his father, but I’m stopped by laughter. It’s taunting, almost manic, and it takes me a second to realize it's coming from Claire.

“That’s what I was waiting for.” She stands and walks over to where Marshall is now slumped on the floor, Declan having stopped his assault when he heard the laughter. She crouches down beside him. “Just a word of advice, Marshall? You should really choose someone with a bigger backbone to manipulate next time. You see…” she reaches out to straighten his tie, which is dotted with blood. “When it’s really easy to convince someone to kill for you, it’s usually easy to convince that person to confess to the crime.”

I watch with wide eyes as she tucks the tie back into his suit jacket, then takes the silk scarf from around her neck, spitting on it before dabbing at the blood on his face. “I went to the station with Nicole myself this afternoon. After lunch, of course. She told them everything,” Claire explains, continuing to clean the blood off Marshall’s face with her spit-covered scarf as Declan and I look on in absolute awe. He flinches every time it makes contact with his skin; from the pain or shame, I don’t know.

“You think they’re going to believe a fucking whore over me?” he hisses. His composure is cracking, his mask slipping.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Claire says softly. Her voice has taken on a tauntingly sweet tone. “You think I don’t know where you keep your burner phone? That I don’t know the combination to your safe or how to recover deleted text messages? The laugh that follows is covered in sarcasm. “Of course you think I don’t. I’m just a dumb slut. Isn’t that what you called me before you pushed me down those stairs?”

She pulls the lapels of his suit jacket together before stepping back and admiring her work. “Well, I think this is as good as it’s going to get,” she announces. “We want you looking your best for your mugshot.”

This is not how I saw this meeting going. We were supposed to show Marshall the evidence against him and convince him to admit that he tried to have me killed. And yes, I have been recording, although now I don’t think it can be used for anything, seeing as it caught Declan beating up his father.

That being said, I kind of want to be Claire when I grow up.

As if on cue, there’s a banging on the door. Claire claps her hands and trots to the door as if she’s greeting guests at a dinner party. “That’s them,” she singsongs.

Claire swings open the door, revealing two officers who show their badges, as they explain they have a warrant for the arrest of Marshall Astor. Even with Claire’s best efforts, he looks wrecked. I’m sure the officers notice the bruising on his face and the blood on his shirt, maybe even Declan’s split knuckles, but they don’t say anything. Instead, they help him up from the floor, and he’s still so out of it from Declan’s beating, he lets them. They cuff him, reading him his rights, and just like that, he’s gone. It’s over. Marshall Astor has been arrested. Between business fraud and attempted murder, he is presumably going to jail for a long time.

Declan rubs his chin, sliding his thumb over his lip. He looks as shocked as I feel about everything that just went down in the last ten minutes.

“Well, my work here is done,” Claire chirps.

“What—” I start, but I’m not even really sure what I want to ask first.