Mick pauses, momentarily lost in the memory. “My father was a selfless, brilliant man who dedicated his life to the pursuit of truth. Halfway through the most important speaking engagement of his life, he had his entire existence pulled out from under him, his pride destroyed, his life’s work—thirty-two years of sacrifice—desecrated in the blink of an eye. Can you imagine the humiliation he must have felt?”

“What happened next?”

“He staggered backstage and fell into my arms, clutching his chest. Julius had a bad heart. With his last ounce of strength, he whispered some instructions to me, then died in my arms.”

“And that’s when you went after Borgia?”

“The bastard was still onstage, spewing hatred. Despite what I’m sure you’ve been told, I’m not a violent man”—the dark eyes widen—“but at that moment, I wanted to shove that microphone down his throat. I remember stalking the podium, the world around me moving in slow motion. All I could hear was my own breathing, all I could see was Borgia, but it seemed like I was looking at him through a tunnel. The next thing I know, he’s lying on the floor, and I’m bashing his skull in with the mike.”

Dominique crosses her legs, disguising the shudder.

“My father’s body ended up in the county morgue, cremated without a ceremony. Borgia spent the next three weeks in a private hospital room where his family ran his senatorial campaign, engineering what the press referred to as ‘an unprecedented come-from-behind victory.’ I sat rotting in a jail cell, no friends or family to bail me out, waiting to face what I assumed were assault charges. Borgia had other ideas. Using his family’s political influence, he manipulated the system, striking a deal with the DA and my state-appointed attorney. The next thing I know, I’m being proclaimed a nutcase, the judge shipping me off to some run-down asylum in Massachusetts, a place where Borgia could keep an eye on me, no pun intended.”

“You say Borgia manipulated the legal system. How?”

“The same way he manipulates Foletta, my state-appointed keeper. Pierre Borgia rewards loyalty, but God help you if you make his shit list. The judge who sentenced me was promoted to the state supreme court within three months of finding me criminally insane. A short time later our good doctor was made facility director, somehow managing to hopscotch over a dozen more qualified applicants.”

The black eyes read her thoughts. “Say what you’re really dunking, Dominique. You think I’m a delusional, paranoid schizophrenic.”

“I didn’t say that. What about the other incident? Are you denying that you brutally attacked a guard?”