Not Steadman my ass. Of course it isn't Terrance Steadman, you're the Vice President and you've got money and power. Therefore, logic will always bend in your favor. Dumb bitch.
"I hope you're proud of this."
Actually, I'm very proud, because I know your secret and you can't kill me if I've gone public. And you know that, but you refuse to give it up. You're having too much fun.
"You've gotten your pound of flesh."
Your eyes are cold, and the lightest blue I've ever seen. Just like ice. You think I'll never prove a thing, don't you? Your brain is probably made of ice too. Hard, and impossible to penetrate.
"Are you done now? Or would you like to hurt my family some more?"
No, I'm not done, and yes, I want to hurt you. I want to lodge a hammer in your skull, I want to melt those ice cold eyes with a blowtorch. It's all just a game for you. Death is not a concept you seem to understand. You pick people off left and right, if they so much as threaten your secret. Most were just at the wrong place at the wrong time. They had jobs, families, friends. Lovers.
The casualties are getting higher, it's going to be difficult to hide eventually. You know what I'm thinking by the look on my face, and you reply with a disgusted look, as if I shoved dog shit under your nose. Nick has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes.
We turn to leave without a word, mourning for the promising career in acting you threw down the drain. You would have been better at that.