Twisted Obsession (Editing)

56 - Part 2: The Final Hour

Lorenzo Vincelli

Friday, February 29, 4:00 PM

Fifteen minutes. That's all it took for the world to shift, for my confession to ripple through every channel, every headline. The news outlets were already on the hunt, feeding on the carcass of the lie I'd so carefully constructed. I could almost hear the desperation in their voices, the frantic need to pick apart every word, every angle. I couldn't help but smile at the thought. It wasn't often I had this much power over the masses.

I slide my sunglasses up the bridge of my nose, feeling the weight of the moment settle on me. The air around me is thick with the stench of fear and anticipation, but I move like I own it. Like I was born to command it. The cameras flash and buzz like a swarm of angry bees, but I don't flinch. I'm not the one who's supposed to be scared.

The government security team—my own private army—has already positioned themselves, guarding my every step. They form a barrier between me and the chaos, but I'm not looking for protection. I don't need it. This is part of the plan too. I walk with purpose, eyes trained straight ahead, never acknowledging the vultures who circle, waiting for a piece of the story.

My Rolls-Royce is parked just ahead, its gleaming body reflecting the soft glow of the city's fading light. The moment I step inside, it's like the world disappears. The door closes, muffling the noise, the madness, the questions. Silence.

As the engine hums to life, I glance through the tinted windows, watching the reporters shout at the security, begging for a glimpse, a whisper, anything they can latch onto. The legal team follows closely, a pair of Range Rovers in front, their tinted windows giving them an air of importance. Behind us, the unmistakable form of a Benz G-Wagon pulls in, and I know the legal team is packed inside, along with a few more high-ranking officials.

It's all set up perfectly, each piece of the puzzle clicking into place. The convoy continues to grow, an entourage of defenders, a fortress of cars protecting a man they believe is already dead. Two more Defender Range Rovers take position at the rear, packed with more government security. Every inch of the scene screams control, screams that I'm still in command, still playing this game by my rules.

I don't look at them—these puppets of the state, these faceless drones trying to grab a moment of my power. Instead, I lean back in my seat, the leather molding to my form, and let the hum of the engine drown out the noise. The world believes I'm dead. They think they've seen the last of me, that they've been fed the truth. But the truth is far darker than they can imagine.

A smile stretches across my lips, a subtle, dangerous thing. They think they're chasing a dead man. They think they have me cornered. But I'm already three steps ahead, and they haven't even begun to scratch the surface of what I'm about to do.

The road ahead is long, but for the first time in what feels like forever. My death was about to cause havoc.

As we drive toward the courthouse, the streets are bustling with the usual midday chaos. It's a typical city afternoon. I can hear the distant chatter of pedestrians going about their business. But I'm not just another man on the street today. I'm a man about to die in front of the world just to stir up drama.

I see them—the jeeps, too many to count—Košarac's men. They flood the streets, surrounding us from every angle. But I keep my face neutral, letting the fear show just enough to sell the act. I am the frightened billionaire, just another victim in a world that wants to devour me. But this is the moment I've been waiting for. This is the show that everyone's been waiting for: my death. The death that will serve as the ultimate lie, a lie that everyone will believe.

The Allisters, my enemies, the government—they all think they have me cornered, that they're in control. But they're just pawns in my game. Today, I die. Today, I disappear.