"And that's why I know you're the killer!" concluded Xavier confidently.

Everybody in the drawing room gasped and stared at me. Their eyes were accusing, condemning, afraid but ready to fight. I felt like a tiger loosed amongst them.

Like a tiger, I wanted to roar, to lash out, to flee. But I was no mere beast. I was Archibald Darius Rucker, and nobody got the better of Archie, not an overpriced whore like dear departed Rebecca and not a so-called master detective like Xavier Black.

He was right about me, unfortunately. Every circumstance he described occured as he deduced. He wasn't exactly correct about everything my motives, but close enough to be damning. That wasn't good.

However, as my dad used to say, close only counted in horseshoes and hand grenades. Decades of doing business in the most cutthroat markets of the world inured me to the most righteous activist protestor and corrupt bureaucrat alike.

I needed time. I had time. More importantly, I had money. And with that came the best damn lawyer alive.

So I sighed and shook my head ruefully, hiding my smile. "Wonderful performance. Tell me, how often have you rehearsed?" I asked, unable to resist taking a jab at me adversary.

"When you speak the truth, no rehearsal is necessary," Xavier asserted righteously.

"I know many people who would disagree, Mr. Black. Yvonne, you would need time to disclose exactly how you concluded the Morrison merger, wouldn't you? Not because it was dishonest, merely because it was complex. And Mark, you and I both know you wife believed you cheated, but convincing her that we really had been working late couldn't have been easy, no?"

I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't sure they'd agree with me. And as they did, the audience started looking unsure. I pressed my advantage. "Indeed, Mr. Black, human beings believe they're characters in a story and expect certain story beats. It's why a story like yours sounds believable. But that isn't how justice works. You need proof. Real, concrete proof. And where there's doubt, people aren't thrown in jail, no matter what convincing fable you tell."

"Your speech flowed pretty easily yourself," Xavier retorted. "Haven't you prepared for this moment?"

I laughed. "In a sense, perhaps. If you'd check my interview with the Economist, you'd see I said the same sort of thing before."

"This nonsense doesn't bring Rebecca back!" he declared.

"No. It doesn't. My dear guests, I'm very sorry to have to trouble you with all this," I said, slowly reaching into my jacket with a smile.

Xavier pounced, tackling me to the ground and punching me. I wasn't used to being hit and saw red, but he was younger and stronger than me. I didn't fight back as he subdued me, but when Xavier searched me, all he found was a pen and notepad. He let go, confusedly muttering, "I was sure he had a gun."

I dusted myself off and stroked my bruised jaw. "You hit me, you asshole! Everybody saw that! Everyone here will be a witness not only about this assault, but the heinous slander this madman spread! Mr. Black, get the hell out of my house! You'll be hearing from my lawyer!" I finally roared.