“Sit. Down.”
He sat.
I put the phone back on the table between us, grandmother’s picture still glowing on the screen.
“What do you want?” His voice was barely a whisper.
“I want you to confess to a murder you committed.”
I swiped to the next photo. Zahara Ali. Alive, smiling, beautiful. The picture was from before everything went wrong.
Dubz stared at it for a long moment. Then his shoulders sagged.
“I was ordered to do that hit.”
“I know. Thad Banks gave the order. But that’s not my concern right now.” I leaned forward slightly. “What I need is for you to confess. Publicly. To the DA. Every detail.”
“And if I don’t?”
I swiped through more photos. His two sons, seventeen and nineteen. Sleeping. Vulnerable. Marked.
“Your daughter dies. Your grandmother dies. Your sons die.” I let each word land like a hammer. “And that money sitting in your offshore account? The one you think nobody knows about? Wiped out. Every penny. Your family won’t have enough to bury you, let alone survive without you.”
He was shaking now. Actually trembling, this massive man who had killed God knows how many people in his life. Reduced to trembling because I’d found the one thing he couldn’t protect.
“Okay.” His voice cracked. “Okay. I’ll confess. Fuck. I’ll do it.”
“Good.” I pulled the phone back and slipped it into my pocket. “Call your lawyer. Have him contact the DA. Full confession. Every detail.”
“What proof do they need? It’s been years?—”
“You tell me. What do you remember?”
He closed his eyes, and I watched him go somewhere else. Back to that night. Back to that apartment. Back to the moment he took Zahara away from everyone who loved her.
“She was wearing a yellow t-shirt,” he said quietly. “Had some writing on it, but I don’t remember what. There was a big ass bag of flour on the counter. Like she’d been baking or some shit.” He swallowed hard. “Little boy’s shoes by the door. Light-up sneakers. And a sad-looking snake plant in the window. Thing was half dead.”
I kept my face blank even though I wanted to reach across the table and snap this man’s neck with my bare hands.
“That’s enough detail,” I said, my voice steady despite the fire burning in my chest. “The DA will be able to verify. If your confession is accepted and the charges are dropped against my fiancée, you’ll be in the clear. Your family stays safe. Your money stays where it is.”
“And if it’s not accepted?”
I stood up, buttoning my suit jacket. “Then I guess we’ll find out how much you really love your children.”
His face crumpled. For a moment he looked less like a killer and more like a desperate father facing the worst nightmare imaginable.
“Please.” His voice broke. “Please spare my kids. They ain’t got nothing to do with this. They don’t even know what I did. Please.”
I looked down at him for a long moment.
“That’s all up to you, Dwight.”
I knocked on the door. The guard opened it from the outside.
“Nice doing business with you,” I said without looking back.
I walked out of that prison the same way I walked in, calm, collected, looking like a man who belonged in a courtroom instead of a crime scene. Nobody stopped me. Nobody questioned me. I was just another lawyer visiting just another client.
