“Why would we want that?” I asked. The anger was still there, hot and immediate. “They destroyed lives. Buried evidence. Killed people. What could they possibly say that matters?”
“Because you deserve to understand the full scope of what you were fighting.” Adrian's voice stayed level. “Not for them. For you. For Lily. For James. So you know exactly what corruption looks like when it wears a suit.”
Cal shifted on his crutches. “Where?”
“Third floor. East wing. Viktor and Noah are already stationed outside. They'll let you in.” Adrian paused. “But understand—whatever happens in that room, you walk out. No vigilante justice. No violence. We won this the right way. Don't let them take that from you by making you into what they are.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to say that some men deserved violence. That legal consequences weren't enough for what they'd done. That Lily's death demanded more than imprisonment.
But Cal's hand found mine again. Squeezed once. A reminder that we'd promised each other something different. That we were building something that didn't run on revenge.
“We'll behave,” Cal said. Voice dry. “Mostly.”
Adrian's mouth twitched. Almost a smile. “That's the best I'll get from either of you. Go. I'll handle the press.”
The corridoroutside Pemberton's chambers was empty except for Viktor and Noah. Both of them stood with the particular stillness of men who could explode into violence at a moment's notice but had chosen restraint.
Viktor nodded as we approached. “They've been in there for twenty minutes. Pemberton's been doing most of the talking. Harrow sounds—” He paused, searching for the word. “Broken.”
Good. He should be broken. Should feel exactly what Lily had felt. What James had felt. What every person they'd destroyed had felt.
Cal knocked. Didn't wait for permission. Just opened the door and moved inside with me following close behind.
The chambers were exactly what I'd expected. Dark wood panelling. Leather furniture that cost more than most peoplemade in a year. Books lining the walls in careful arrangement meant to project intelligence and authority. Windows overlooking London like he owned it.
Pemberton sat behind his desk, posture immaculate despite the verdict hanging over him like a noose. He looked at us with the particular disdain of someone who'd spent decades believing everyone beneath him existed for his convenience. He didn't stand. Didn't acknowledge our entrance beyond a dismissive glance.
“Ah. The investigators.” His voice carried contempt wrapped in civility. “How industrious of you both. Do come in.”
Harrow stood by the window, looking out at the city. His suit was immaculate as always, but something about him looked hollow. Defeated. Like a man who'd finally run out of moves and was waiting for the endgame.
But when he turned to face us, his expression held arrogance I hadn't expected. Chin lifted. Shoulders back. The posture of someone who refused to be diminished even in defeat.
“Dominic,” Harrow said. Voice smooth. Almost pleasant. “And Callahan. I wondered if you'd come gloating.”
“We're not here to gloat,” Cal said. Moving to lean against the wall, crutches propped beside him. “We're here because Adrian thought we deserved answers. So answer. Why? Why all of it?”
“Because the world requires control,” Pemberton said, as if explaining something obvious to slow children. “And most people are too weak or too stupid to provide it. So men like us step in. Make the difficult decisions. Ensure society functions despite the chaos that would consume it otherwise.”
“You murdered innocent people,” I said flatly. “Called it control.”
“I removed obstacles.” Pemberton's fingers drummed once on his desk. “Though I wouldn't expect someone like you tounderstand nuance. You strike me as the type who sees morality in absolutes. How tediously naive.”
Cal pushed off the wall. “Someone like him? You mean someone who doesn't justify killing civilians?”
“I mean someone without the education or breeding to understand how power actually works.” Pemberton's gaze flicked over Cal with obvious distaste. “You're the one who was forced out of the police, yes? The disgraced detective with the unfortunate memory? How fitting that you'd end up here, playing at investigation while real men handle actual justice.”
The insult was deliberate. Calculated to provoke. I felt Cal's fury spike, felt my own rising to match it.
“You're going to prison,” I said quietly. “So save the superiority complex for your cellmates. They'll be the only ones listening.”
Harrow laughed. Actually laughed. “You think prison frightens me? After what I've seen? After what I've done?” He moved from the window, his arrogance cutting through the defeat like a blade. “I made this city safer. Put away predators who would have walked otherwise. Ensured justice happened even when the law was too broken to deliver it. That's my legacy. Not the conviction. Not the fall. The work I did before small-minded people like you decided procedure mattered more than outcomes.”
“You killed my sister,” I said. Voice shaking with rage. “Don't talk to me about outcomes.”
“Your sister was collateral damage,” Pemberton said dismissively. “Unfortunate, certainly. But necessary. She witnessed something she shouldn't have. Had evidence that would have unravelled years of careful work. The civilised response was containment. Quick. Clean. Without the mess of prolonged investigation.”
He said it like he was discussing a business transaction. Like Lily's life was just another line item to be balanced.
