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Chapter 775:
Outside the correctional facility, the cold Upstate New York wind hit June’s face. She stopped and drew a slow breath of the sharp, clean air, and felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her unlike anything she had felt before.
Easton put an arm around her shoulders to steady her. “It’s over, June,” he said quietly. “The FBI strike team can move now p>
The black Maybach pulled away from the federal correctional facility and sped down the Hudson Valley highway toward New York City.
The cabin was silent. Easton sat beside June, speaking rapidly on his encrypted phone to a federal prosecutor in the Southern District of New York. Through a secure channel, he transmitted Susan’s recorded confession and the mechanic’s USB drive directly to the prosecution team.
The prosecutor, having confirmed that the evidence chain was complete and irrefutable, immediately signed emergency arrest warrants for Richard Beasley on charges of first-degree murder and international money laundering.
Easton hung up and turned to June. “The joint NYPD Major Crimes and FBI strike team has assembled. They’re on their way to Beasley Manor now p>
The gears of justice, seven years late, finally began to turn.
𝖡𝘦 𝘁𝗵𝖾 𝖿𝗶𝗋𝘀t 𝘁𝗼 r𝖾a𝗱 𝗼𝗇
June heard the words. The nerve that had been stretched taut for seven years suddenly gave way. A wave of exhaustion unlike anything she had ever felt crashed over her all at once.
She didn’t cheer. She didn’t cry. She simply slumped back against the leather seat, her face nearly transparent, her breathing shallow and slow.
She closed her eyes. Images moved through her mind in flashes: her mother’s burning helicopter, Cole’s betrayal, Alycia’s poisoned needle, Susan’s screaming face pressed against the glass.
The poison of revenge had corroded her enemies. But it had also come close to draining her own soul dry. She felt empty—hollowed out, numb, scraped clean from the inside.
Easton watched her and understood. She was a bow drawn too tightly, on the edge of snapping.
He didn’t offer empty words of comfort. Instead, he leaned forward and gave the driver a quiet instruction to reroute to Queens.
June opened her eyes slightly as the Manhattan skyline gave way to the tree-lined streets and brownstones of a residential neighborhood. “Where are we going p>
Easton gently took her cold hand in his. “I’m taking you to meet someone who will show you what all of this was for p>
The Maybach pulled up to the curb on a quiet street. In front of them was an old-fashioned family bakery, warm light spilling through its windows, the smell of butter and cinnamon drifting out through the open door.
Easton helped June out of the car and settled her coat over her shoulders. He pushed open the glass door, setting a small brass bell ringing above them.
A silver-haired woman in an apron looked up from behind the counter. Her face broke into a wide, genuine smile when she saw Easton.
“There’s my big lawyer savior!” she said, coming around to embrace him.
Easton smiled and turned to June. “June, this is Mrs. Higgins. She owns this bakery p>