"When she went into the hospital for the last time, I finally believed she loved me. But then there you were not even three days later, sitting beside her, stroking your hands through her hair, what was left of it, whispering to her."
David Hoffman stared down at him, wondered in that moment if he hated Valenti more than he'd loved his wife.
He gave a low laugh, one filled with pain at the sharp memory of her death. "You know what, Alex? When she came back, Savich believed she was trying to protect me, but it was you, always you. Even beyond death, she was trying to protect you, from me. I always came in second. I hated it. But then she spoke to Savich, and gave me a gift, an opportunity, so fitting, so perfect, it was too good to let pass. That's when I decided what I was going to do."
Valenti looked into his friend's eyes, but he simply couldn't accept it. "Are you telling me you sabotaged your own car? That you tried to kill me?"
David Hoffman slowly rose. "Ah, you're looking at me like I'm a monster, Alex. If only you'd died when the Brabus hit that oak tree. I would have given one of the most eloquent eulogies at your lavish funeral, reminded all the mourners of what a wonderful family man you were. And I would have been thanking Nikki for making it all possible. Unfortunately, you survived. I've lost to you yet again."
"There was never anything to lose. You've become obsessed, Dave-"
"Shut up, for once, shut up! There's nothing wrong with me, nothing. Listen to me. I came to tell you it was I who tried to kill you, but I will not try again."
Valenti felt nauseated, from physical pain, from the drugs, from this soul-leaching hatred, this obsession, yes, that's exactly what it was, and surely it was insanity too, and he was the focus of it. Had Nikki really spoken to Savich? Had she really been trying to warn him? He whispered, "You know it will all come out, Dave."
"Eventually, perhaps. Agent Savich suspects some of it. Will he find evidence of what I did? I was very careful, but who knows?
"Now, Alex, I'm asking you not to tell anyone what I've told you. I don't ask it for myself, but for both our families, for Elyssa, for all of your sons, and for your own sake. This is not what either of us want to be remembered for, is it?"
Valenti wondered how his body could keep breathing. He couldn't believe this, just couldn't, and now David wanted him to keep silent? He asked him, "What would happen to you, Dave?"
"Do you know, I've decided to join Nikki. Since I won't try to kill you again, you'll probably live for a good long time and that means I'll have years with her before you show up."
"Why did you tell me in the first place, then?"
"You had to know," Hoffman said. "I wanted to watch your face as I told you why I wanted to kill you, why I've hated you more years than I can remember, wanted you to know the truth about your bastard son.
"You took everything that should have been mine, my wife, even my first-born son. I had to call you friend, had to laugh with you, I had to feign being sorry when misfortune struck you. That's all over now. When I leave this room, I have no desire to ever see you again." He paused, gave a sharp laugh, and added, "Please don't give a eulogy at my memorial."
The vice president looked at him, deep shadows in his eyes, memories ricocheting in his brain, memories and pain and what-would-have-beens. He didn't want to accept what David Hoffman had confessed because it meant so much of what he had cherished for so many years was a lie. Aiden was his son? He could barely get his mind around that fact.
He was tired. He hurt. He wanted Elyssa. She would know what to do. Above all, he was so sad he wanted to weep. He closed his eyes and saw Aiden's face in his mind. Nikki, I'm so sorry.
He heard the door open. "I won't even come to your funeral," he said, and heard the door close. He saw David Hoffman speak briefly to the Secret Service agents, then turn and leave. The tears he refused to shed burned his eyes and his throat. He swallowed, but the damned tears burned hotter. He raised his hand to pick up the glass of water.
"Sir, please give me that glass."
Valenti stared at Sherlock as she walked quickly from the small bathroom, stared at her hand as she quickly picked up the water glass. "You're not a Secret Service agent, are you?"
"No sir, I'm not. I'm FBI. I will ask your nurse to bring you water, all right?"
Sherlock saw realization dawn in his eyes, followed by a look of utter desolation. He looked, she thought, unutterably weary.
Valenti whispered, "He lied."