Chapter 6
The interrogation room in the federal holding facility smelled of stale coffee, industrial bleach, and old paper. Clara sat at the scarred metal table, her hands cuffed loosely to the bolted ring in the center. Her posture was broken, her decades of immaculate housekeeping pride stripped away by the harsh fluorescent lights overhead. Across the table sat Agent Vance and Marcus Sterling, watching her with unblinking vigilance.
“I didn't want any of this,” Clara whispered, staring down at her worn wedding band. “When Thomas married Catherine, he seemed like a savior. He was charming, ambitious, and deeply attentive to the family business.”
“Spare us the eulogy, Clara,” Marcus said, his voice hard as iron. “Tell us about the trip to Greece. Tell us how my cousin Catherine died.”
Clara swallowed hard, tears leaking from her tired eyes. “It wasn't an accident. Thomas had been panicking for weeks before the yacht trip. Catherine had found the offshore shell companies. She told him she was going to confess everything to Mr. Sterling on their return. That night on the water... there was an argument. I wasn't on the deck, but I heard them screaming from my cabin below.”
“And?” Agent Vance pressed, leaning forward over the table.
“The next morning, Catherine was gone,” Clara choked out, her voice breaking into a ragged sob. “Thomas told me she slipped off the stern while stargazing. But he made me help him shred her private notebooks and clean out her cabin before the coast guard arrived. He threatened to frame me for financial fraud if I didn't cooperate.”
Marcus slammed his hand against the metal table, the loud bang making Clara jump. “You covered up a murder for ten years because you were afraid of going to jail?”
“I have a daughter, Marcus!” Clara cried out, her voice rising in desperate defense. “Elena was just a little girl then! What would you have done?”
Outside the observation glass, Arthur Sterling stood in the darkened hallway, listening to every word through the audio feed. His knuckles were white as he gripped the handle of his walking cane. The revelation was not a shock; it was the confirmation of a nightmare he had lived with every single day for a decade. He had mourned his daughter’s death with flowers and quiet prayers, never knowing that the monster who took her life was sleeping under his own roof, playing the doting husband and executive.
The door behind Arthur opened softly, and a federal liaison stepped out. “Mr. Sterling, you should sit down. This is heavy.”
“I’ve carried heavier burdens than this, son,” Arthur replied without turning his head away from the glass. “Where is Thomas being held?”
“Maximum security holding block B. He’s refusing to speak without a defense attorney present.”
“He won't need a lawyer once I’m done with him,” Arthur said quietly, turning around to walk down the sterile corridor. “Get my car. We are going to the holding facility.”
Marcus emerged from the interrogation room a moment later, wiping his brow with a tissue. He caught up to his grandfather near the elevator bank. “Grandpa, you shouldn't go down there. Let the federal prosecutors handle him. If you confront him now, it plays right into his defense strategy.”
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Arthur stopped and looked at his nephew, his eyes burning with a fierce, unwavering determination. “Marcus, that man killed my daughter, terrorized my granddaughter, and turned my home into a nest of vipers. I didn't build an empire by letting others fight my wars.”
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing a sterile, empty interior waiting to take them down into the belly of the facility.
