Chapter 11 - The Interrogation Room
The interrogation room was a sterile, windowless box painted in institutional beige, illuminated by a harsh fluorescent panel humming overhead. A single stainless-steel table bolted to the floor reflected the harsh overhead light, flanked by two plastic chairs. Julian sat on one side, his hands cuffed to a metal loop anchored in the center of the table. He wore a simple grey prison jumpsuit that replaced his ruined black tuxedo, yet his posture remained impeccably straight. The heavy metal door clicked open, and Special Agent Miller stepped inside, carrying a thick manila folder which he dropped onto the table with a dull thud.
“Your father isn’t holding up as well as you are, Julian,” Agent Miller said, pulling out the opposite chair and sitting down slowly. He opened the folder to reveal a series of printed bank statements and encrypted chat logs. “Arthur Vane is threatening to tear up the joint-defense agreement and take full responsibility for the asset-stripping, provided we lock you away right beside him.”
Julian didn't look at the documents. He kept his eyes fixed on Agent Miller, his breathing slow and measured, maintaining the restrained emotional composure that had defined his entire corporate career.
“My father is a pragmatist disguised as an aristocrat,” Julian said smoothly. “He’s threatening cooperation because he thinks it will pressure the district attorney into a plea deal that preserves the family trust. But the trust was dissolved into federal receivership at midnight. He has no leverage left.”
Miller leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table as he studied Julian’s face for any micro-expression of panic or deceit.
“And Rebecca?” Miller asked, raising an eyebrow. “She’s singing a different tune entirely. She claims you were the primary architect of the Zurich shell companies, and she has the encrypted hard drives to prove it—drives she managed to smuggle out of the building before the federal raid.”
Julian’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. A single muscle ticked near his cheek, the only physical sign that the narrative was shifting in a dangerous direction. He had anticipated Rebecca’s survival instincts, but her possession of those specific physical drives meant she had bypassed his secondary firewall in sub-level three.
“Rebecca is an opportunist,” Julian replied, his voice dropping an octave into a low, controlled register. “She spent three years helping me build those offshore vehicles. If my name is on the ledger, hers is right beside it as the primary beneficiary of every diverted account.”
“Maybe,” Miller conceded, closing the manila folder with a sharp snap. “But right now, her attorneys are cutting a deal to pin the entire corporate collapse on you as retaliation for her wrongful termination and exile.”
Julian let out a quiet, humorless breath, shaking his head slightly.
“Let her try,” Julian murmured, leaning back in his chair. “Every transaction she claims I authorized requires her biometric signature to clear the international clearinghouses. If she sinks me, she goes down to the bottom of the sea with me.”
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Before Agent Miller could respond, the interrogation room door swung open wide, and a junior officer rushed in, whispering urgently into the agent’s ear and handing him a fresh, urgent memo.
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