Sebastian Cross walked slowly toward the wheelchair. He looked at the paralyzed man with a mixture of clinical curiosity and professional respect.
“The Department of Justice would certainly prefer the architect of the Syndicate over his successor,” Cross admitted. “But a trial would be messy given your… condition. They might argue you aren’t competent to stand.”
“I am… competent,” Alistair growled. “Set up… the camera.”
He took a shallow breath, his heart monitor beeping faster. “I will give you… a video deposition. A full confession. Names. Dates. Account numbers in Zurich. The entire… structure.”
Cross raised an eyebrow. “And in exchange?”
“Immunity,” Alistair demanded. “Binding… federal immunity. For my wife. For my sons. For the board.”
He leaned forward inches, his eyes burning. “You get the Syndicate on a platter. My family gets… a clean slate. Take the deal… or I go back to sleep… and you get nothing.”
Cross checked his watch, then smiled. “I’ll have the stenographer here in ten minutes.”