Chapter 8
The interrogation room in the federal building downtown smelled of stale coffee, industrial floor cleaner, and decades of nervous sweat. The walls were covered in pale green acoustic tiles, deadening any sound save for the hum of the overhead fluorescent fixture casting a sickly yellow hue over the scratched metal table.
Arthur sat at the center of the table, his hands cuffed to a bolted-down metal loop. His black suit jacket was draped over the back of the metal chair, leaving him in his rumpled white shirt and loosened dark tie. He looked smaller, the sharp corporate authority he had worn like armor for a decade completely stripped away by the harsh lights and the quiet ticking of the wall clock.
The heavy door opened with a sharp metallic click.
Agent Marcus Vance—no relation to Arthur, despite the shared surname—stepped into the room carrying a thick manila folder and a steaming paper cup of black coffee. He was a tall man with iron-gray hair, wearing a creased gray trench coat that he didn't bother to remove. He tossed the folder onto the metal table with a heavy thud, took a seat opposite Arthur, and opened it slowly.
"Dr. Vance," Agent Vance began, his voice flat and devoid of professional courtesy. "Let's review the timeline one more time. According to the internal network logs, your private administrative key authorized the deletion of three critical adverse-event reports regarding the synthetic heart valve trials on November twelfth of last year."
"I told you," Arthur said, his voice raspy and exhausted. "Those deletions were part of a standard database migration approved by the risk management committee."
"We spoke with every member of the risk management committee this morning," Agent Vance replied, taking a slow sip of his coffee. "None of them recall approving a deletion of adverse-event data. In fact, Dr. Rachel Sterling’s legal representation provided a mirrored backup of the server logs showing that you personally executed the override script from your home terminal at 2:14 in the morning."
Arthur stared at the metal table, tracing a scratch in the paint with his cuffed thumb. "Rachel did that."
"Dr. Sterling is the one who flagged the discrepancy and brought it to our attention," the agent corrected, leaning forward. "She walked into the field office yesterday with a complete paper trail proving systemic negligence, falsified patient outcomes, and corporate cover-ups spanning five years. She saved us six months of investigative legwork."
"She set me up," Arthur muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "She had access to my credentials. She knew my passwords."
"And she had the integrity to report it when she found out," Agent Vance countered smoothly. "That’s the difference between you and her, Doctor. When a system fails, a good physician tries to fix the root cause. A corrupt administrator tries to bury the chart."
The door behind Agent Vance opened a crack. A junior agent leaned in, whispering something urgent into the investigator's ear. Agent Vance’s expression didn't change, but his eyes flicked back to Arthur with a renewed, calculating interest.
"Well, it appears your colleague downstairs has finished her formal statement," Agent Vance said, closing the folder with a sharp snap.
"Can I speak with her?" Arthur asked, looking up with a desperate flicker of hope. "Rachel can explain—"
"Dr. Sterling already left the building, Arthur," Agent Vance interrupted, standing up and grabbing his coffee cup. "She caught a flight out of the municipal airfield twenty minutes ago. Destination unknown."
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Arthur sank back into the hard metal chair, the cold steel handcuffs biting into his wrists as the heavy door slammed shut behind the investigator, locking him alone with the ticking clock and the wreckage of his own design.
***
