Chapter 5 - The Interrogation Room
The interrogation room at the federal precinct smelled of cold coffee, cheap disinfectant, and quiet desperation. The metal table between Julian and the federal prosecutor gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights overhead.
Julian’s dark blue suit was now stained and wrinkled, his black shirt unbuttoned, making him look less like a corporate titan and more like a cornered animal.
“Sign the cooperation agreement, Mr. Sterling,” the prosecutor said, sliding a thick document across the metal surface.
“Admit to the wire fraud, hand over the offshore access codes, and the government might recommend a reduced sentence of eight years instead of twenty.”
Julian laughed bitterly, staring at the papers without picking up the pen.
“Eight years? That’s a life sentence for someone like me,” Julian muttered, running a hand over his stubbled jaw.
“And what about my wife? Where is Chloe?”
“Your wife is being held in an adjacent holding cell,” the prosecutor replied smoothly, tapping a pen against the table.
“And according to our preliminary review of her personal communications, she has already retained separate counsel and is actively blaming every single illegal transaction entirely on you.”
Julian’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief. A cold sweat broke out across his forehead as the full weight of Chloe’s betrayal crashed down upon him.
“She wouldn’t,” Julian whispered, though deep down he knew Chloe was entirely capable of selling him out to save her own skin.
“She already has, Julian,” the prosecutor said, sliding a printed transcript of Chloe’s police interview across the table.
Julian grabbed the papers, his eyes scanning the typed lines where Chloe described him as a manipulative mastermind who forced her compliance under threat of abandonment. The lies were staggering, painted with enough half-truths to make them stick in a court of law.
“She framed me,” Julian gasped, his voice trembling with helpless fury.
“We did it together! Every single dime went into our joint accounts!”
“Then prove it,” the prosecutor challenged quietly.
“Give us the names of the Swiss intermediaries. Give us the bank accounts. If you protect your mother’s legacy by destroying your wife’s alibi, we might listen.”
Julian stared at the pen lying beside the document. He was trapped between the mother who destroyed him and the wife who betrayed him.
Slowly, Julian reached out his trembling fingers and picked up the heavy black pen.
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Just as the tip touched the paper, the heavy steel door of the interrogation room swung open violently, and a frantic federal agent rushed in, whispering something urgent into the prosecutor’s ear that made the man’s face instantly turn white.
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