Page 23 of Her Last Confession

Novak remained standing, pacing slowly as he took in the space. "Hell of a place," he said quietly. "Everything's so... perfect."

Rachel nodded. Everything about the space spoke of precision and control, from the perfectly spaced potted plants to the way the morning light filtered through carefully positioned skylights. It was beautiful, but there was something almostclinical about it that made her skin crawl. The air itself seemed precisely temperature-controlled, not a degree too warm or too cool.

The soft ping of the elevator from the far right of the space drew their attention. Diana Tatum emerged, her heels clicking purposefully across the marble floor in a rhythm that echoed off the high ceiling. She was tall, with short silver hair cut in an expensive asymmetrical style that emphasized her sharp cheekbones. Her charcoal suit looked as if it had been tailored within the last hour, despite the early Sunday hour. Everything about her screamed precision and control—exactly like her building.

"Mrs. Tatum," Rachel said, rising to meet her. "Thank you for seeing us."

"Of course." Diana's voice was clipped, professional, but Rachel caught a slight tremor underneath the polished exterior. "Though I admit, it's not typical for me to be here at this hour on a Sunday."

"And yet here you are," Rachel observed, watching carefully for her reaction.

A flash of something—worry, perhaps, or fear—crossed Diana's face. "We're here for the same reason you are, I suppose. As soon as we heard about this knock-off machines.. someone stealing our design..." She paused, composing herself, one manicured hand absently adjusting her jacket. "When we learned someone had been killed in what appeared to be one of our pods, I assembled a team immediately. We've been calling every site where we currently have units installed, making sure this isn’t one of ours."

Rachel watched the woman carefully. The distress in her voice seemed genuine, her hands clasped tightly together as she spoke. Despite the perfect appearance, there were signs of strain—slight shadows under her eyes that makeup couldn't quite conceal, a barely noticeable tremor in her hands.

"Mrs. Tatum," Rachel said gently, "I need to inform you that a second victim has been found in another pod."

Diana's professional facade cracked. Her hand flew to her mouth, and Rachel could see her fighting to maintain composure, tears threatening to spill over. "Oh God," she whispered. "This can't be happening. Our pods... they're meant to provide peace, dignity. Not this. Never this."

“Yes, we know. And having seen these pods up close, we can confirm that while they bearmanysimilarities to your peaceful passage pods, there are just enough differences to confirm that they do seem to be recreations…knock-offs, as you said.”

“We should ask, though,” Novak said, “if you have been able to account for all of your pods?"

Diana took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders as she regained control. A ray of sunlight caught her hair, making the silver strands gleam like polished steel. "We've located all but one." Her voice wavered slightly. "The location-sharing feature has been overridden somehow, and we can't reach anyone at the facility where it's supposed to be."

Rachel and Novak exchanged glances. In the soaring lobby of EndLight's headquarters, with morning sun streaming through the windows, Rachel felt a chill run down her spine. One pod is unaccounted for. One pod that could be anywhere, with anyone. Could it have been used as the template and inspiration for the two they’d seen? The perfect murder weapon, designed with all the precision and attention to detail that surrounded them in this very lobby.

"Tell me everything you know about that pod," Rachel said.

Diana nodded, sinking into one of the chrome and leather chairs. In the harsh morning light streaming through thegeometric skylights, she suddenly looked much older, much more aware of the evil her company had inadvertently inspired.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Rachel fought the urge to pace. After years of working homicide cases, she'd developed an almost visceral reaction to watching time slip away while a killer remained free. Each second that ticked by felt like another grain of sand through an hourglass, another moment someone else might die. And the odd, morbid nature of this case was making it so much worse.

"One pod," Diana repeated, her voice echoing slightly in the vast space. "One peaceful passage pod unaccounted for." She pushed herself back a bit more into the chair, as if hoping it might swallow her up and take her away from this conversation. "It was delivered to a small experimental hospice center in Woodbridge just two days ago."

Rachel's stomach clenched. Hospice centers had, after all, become quite near and dear to her heart. Over the past year or so. It made the entire ordeal feel more personal. She glanced at Novak, who stood with his back to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, his frame silhouetted against the afternoon light.

A young employee hurried past them, heels clicking against the polished floor, the sound emphasizing the gravity of their conversation. Rachel shifted her weight, positioning herself to block the woman's view of Diana's increasingly distressed face. The contrast between the lobby's serene atmosphere and the darkness of their discussion felt almost obscene.

"And the staff?" Novak pressed, his voice pitched low to avoid carrying across the lobby. "No one has contacted you back?”

Diana shook her head, her perfectly styled hair catching the light. "We've tried everything. Calls, emails, texts – three different people are responsible for that pod on-site. Not one of them has responded." She sighed and stared out into themorning through the massive windows. "It's not like them. These are dedicated healthcare professionals. They understand the importance of maintaining contact."

Rachel felt the familiar pull, that nagging instinct that told her to get in the car and drive the four hours to Woodbridge right now—to hunt down that missing pod. But experience had taught her that sometimes the most valuable information came from staying put, from pressing just a little harder where you already stood. She'd learned that lesson the hard way, through years of cases where rushing in had meant missing crucial details.

She studied Diana's face, noting the shadows under her eyes poorly concealed by expensive makeup. The CEO's polished demeanor was cracking, revealing the worried woman beneath. Small lines around her mouth betrayed nights of lost sleep, of wrestling with the knowledge that her company's creation had been perverted into something monstrous.

"Ms. Tatum," Rachel said, choosing her words carefully, "during our investigation, we spoke with Dr. Marcus Kent." She paused, watching for any reaction. "He had some rather strong opinions about EndLight's safety protocols. Strong enough to get him fired, from what we understand."

Diana also apparently had issues standing still when she was anxious; she stood from the chair less than two minutes after taking it and began to pace slowly. She smoothed her skirt with trembling hands, a nervous gesture that reminded Rachel of Paige when she was trying to hide something.

"Dr. Kent," Diana said slowly, "was instrumental in developing our existing safety protocols. But he... he became fixated on implementing measures that would have required a complete overhaul of our control panels." She began to pace, her heels marking a steady rhythm on the polished floor. "We tried to work with him, to find compromises, but he wouldn't hear of it."

Novak stepped away from the window, moving closer to their small group. His shadow stretched across the floor, distorted by the angle of the sun. "Was he ever concerned about replication? About someone copying the technology?"

The color drained from Diana's face as she slowly began to nod. "Yes, actually. He became obsessed with it." She glanced around the lobby, as if afraid there might be someone hiding in plain sight, listening in. "We brought in outside experts – three different firms we chose, plus one Kent selected himself. All four reached the same conclusion: the pods were safe and functional as designed."

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