Chapter 5 - The Midnight Interrogation Room
The interrogation room at the federal holding facility smelled of stale coffee, old paper, and intense fear. The fluorescent lights overhead hummed with a low, agonizing frequency that seemed to drill straight into Elinor's temples.
She sat at the metal table, her gold gown stained with soot and champagne, her wrists still bound by the cold steel cuffs. Across from her sat Special Agent Thomas Vance—no relation to Elena, a fact he had made abundantly clear within the first five minutes.
"Let's go over the timeline again, Mrs. Sterling," Agent Vance said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the scratched surface of the table. He tossed a thick manila folder down. "At 8:00 PM, your logistics network suffered a catastrophic, synchronized failure. At 8:02 PM, three hundred million dollars in untracked corporate funds were transferred from your Cayman accounts into a federal restitution fund. At 8:05 PM, you were detained."
Elinor forced her chin up, adopting a facade of icy disdain. "I want my lawyer. I want constitutional counsel. You have no jurisdiction to hold me without formal arraignment."
"Under the Patriot Act provisions regarding corporate espionage and domestic terrorism funded through foreign shell companies, we have seventy-two hours before we even have to read you a charge sheet," Vance replied smoothly, flipping open the folder to reveal a series of high-resolution photographs. "Recognize these?"
Elinor glanced down. The photos showed cargo manifests stamped with forged signatures, listing medical supplies that turned out to be contraband chemicals.
"Every corporation has bureaucratic redundancies," Elinor said coldly. "Those documents are falsified. Elena Vance is a disgruntled former employee seeking revenge for her husband's termination."
"Her husband wasn't terminated, Mrs. Sterling. He was murdered," Vance said, his voice dropping an octave. "Or did you think a staged car accident on the George Washington Bridge two years ago would stay buried forever?"
Elinor’s breath hitched. She locked her jaw, refusing to let her panic show on her face. "That is an absurd conspiracy theory. The police report ruled it accidental."
"The police report was filed by a chief of police whose pension fund was heavily supplemented by Sterling Logistics," Vance countered, sliding a single sheet of paper across the table. It was a bank transfer receipt dated forty-eight hours before the fatal crash, signed by Elinor herself. "Elena didn't just come to us with financial fraud tonight, Elinor. She brought the homicide file."
Elinor stared at her own signature, the ink looking terrifyingly dark under the harsh lights.
Before she could speak, the heavy steel door of the interrogation room swung open slowly, creaking on its hinges.
Standing in the doorway, dressed in a simple black trench coat with her bruised face partially hidden by the shadows, was Elena Vance. She held little Leo’s small, warm hand in hers.
Elena stared directly into Elinor’s terrified eyes and spoke softly: "You forgot to check the backup server in Zurich, Elinor. And my husband says hello."
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