Chapter 9: The Loudest Room
Flynn's lawyer arrived by helicopter at dawn.
His name was Garrett Voss — I recognized it because my father had once described him as the kind of attorney you hire when you need the truth to become negotiable.
He was on the enforcement vessel's deck for eleven minutes before he requested a formal interview room and a secure phone line.
Reyes told me this with the particular neutrality of someone who has seen it before.
"What does that mean for the case?" I asked.
"It means Flynn is going to try to build a story," she said.
"It doesn't change what's on that phone."
At eight in the morning, Reyes came to find me with a different expression — not the careful neutrality of the night before, but something sharper.
"Flynn wants to speak with you," she said.
"Directly.
No lawyers in the room.
His request."
"What does Voss say about that?"
"Voss doesn't know he asked." She paused.
"You don't have to agree.
But if you want to hear what he says when he thinks he can still negotiate — this is the moment."
I thought about it for exactly four seconds.
"I'll do it."
They put us in the same small cabin where Reyes had interviewed me the night before.
Flynn was already seated when I came in.
His restraints had been removed for the meeting.
He was wearing a dry shirt someone had brought from the *Celestine*, and he had combed his hair.
He looked, almost, like himself.
"Vivienne," he said.
I sat down across from him and said nothing.
"I need you to understand something." His voice was measured.
Reasonable.
The voice he used when he wanted something.
"What you heard — it wasn't what it sounded like."
"You explained how you were going to push me off the aft deck."
"That was—" He stopped.
Started again.
"Aidan was pushing me.
He's been pushing me since before the wedding.
The whole plan was his.
I was never going to go through with it."
"You said *tonight*.
You confirmed it."
"Because he was standing right there." His jaw tightened slightly.
"What was I supposed to say?"
"Flynn." I kept my voice level.
"There are fourteen months of messages on that phone."
Something moved behind his eyes.
He hadn't known I'd seen all of it.
"Cassandra," I said.
"Four years.
The ring.
*Soon it'll be yours.* Which part of that was Aidan pushing you?"
The reasonable voice disappeared.
"You want to talk about what's fair?" His tone shifted — not to anger, but to something colder.
"Your father handed you everything.
The yacht.
The trust fund.
The company shares.
You've never worked for a single thing in your life.
I spent three years building something real, and Aidan offered me a way out of his debt that I couldn't refuse.
You want to call that a conspiracy?
Call it survival."
"You were going to push me into the ocean."
"I told you, I wasn't—"
"Flynn." I leaned forward.
"I was on the communications room floor with a federal agent on the line while you were trying to break down the door.
Everything you said in that corridor is recorded.
Everything Aidan said is recorded.
Everything on that phone is in federal custody." I stood up.
"There is no version of this conversation that helps you."
He stared at me.
"So why did you agree to see me?" he asked.
"Because I wanted to look at you." I picked up my chair and set it back against the wall.
"And I wanted you to know that I did."
I knocked twice on the cabin door.
The officer outside opened it.
"Vivienne." Flynn's voice, from behind me.
The reasonable tone was entirely gone.
What replaced it was something rawer, and for the first time, completely honest.
"I did love you.
In the beginning.
Before Aidan—"
"I know," I said.
I didn't turn around.
May you like
"That's the worst part."
I walked out.
