Chapter 7 - The Interrogation Room
The interrogation room smelled faintly of stale floor wax and decades of cold bureaucracy.
A single silver-mesh chair sat in the center of the linoleum floor, illuminated by an overhead fluorescent fixture that hummed with a low, agonizing frequency.
Clara sat across from Leo and a stern-faced woman with iron-grey hair named Agent Vance—no relation, as she had curtly pointed out during the intake process fifteen minutes prior.
"Let's go through it one more time, Mrs. Vance," Agent Vance said, sliding a glossy photograph across the scratched metal table.
The photo showed David standing in the private aviation terminal of the regional airport, holding a leather briefcase in one hand and a passport in the other, smiling broadly at someone just out of frame.
"I told you, I haven't spoken to him since breakfast," Clara repeated, her voice hoarse from hours of repeating the same defense. "He kissed me on the cheek, told me he had a board meeting at nine, and left his laptop on the kitchen counter."
"His laptop was wiped clean at 8:15 AM from an IP address originating right here in this parking lot," Leo interjected, sliding a second document forward. "And the burner phone found in your pocket was registered under your maiden name yesterday afternoon."
Clara slammed her cuffed hands onto the table, the metallic clatter echoing off the concrete walls. "Are you listening to yourselves? Why would I help David steal my own money and then accidentally walk into the wrong car in broad daylight?"
Agent Vance leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table and locking her sharp gray eyes onto Clara's face.
"That's the million-dollar question, Clara," Agent Vance said softly. "Either you're the unluckiest accomplice in white-collar history, or your husband planned to pin the entire federal indictment on you from the very beginning."
Clara felt the breath leave her lungs. "Pin it on me?"
"If David boards that flight to Zurich, his assets are frozen internationally," Leo explained, tapping the corner of the photograph. "But if you're convicted of the transfer first, the marital asset laws dictate that all remaining domestic holdings revert exclusively to his legal estate—which he transferred to an overseas trust last week."
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The heavy steel door of the interrogation room suddenly swung open, and a junior officer whispered something urgently into Agent Vance's ear, causing the senior agent's expression to pale instantly.
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