Chapter 2
The interrogation room smelled of cheap disinfectant and decades of despair. Julian sat at the metal table, the steel cuffs now secured to a bolt in the center, restricting his movement just enough to remind him of his temporary powerlessness. Detective Vance, a sharp-faced woman with a reputation for dismantling white-collar criminals, slid a manila folder across the table. Inside were photographs of Clara and Leo, taken at the bus station two days prior. Julian didn’t look at the photos. He stared directly into Vance’s eyes, a faint, condescending smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
"You have an aggressive history, Mr. Sterling," Vance said, her voice entirely devoid of warmth. "Assault, disturbing the peace, and based on what officers witnessed today, we have enough to hold you for a psychological evaluation and domestic endangerment charges. You made a scene in broad daylight."
Julian leaned forward as much as the chain allowed, the dark green velvet of his jacket catching the dim fluorescent overhead light. "Make a scene? Detective, I was retrieving my kidnapped family. My wife suffers from severe episodes of instability. She took my son without my consent, crossing state lines with fraudulent documents. What you saw out there was a desperate father trying to protect his child."
Vance didn’t blink. She had heard every sociopathic script in the book. "Funny, the boy was crying for you to stop, Mr. Sterling. And the eyewitness accounts paint a very different picture of who was terrorizing whom. Clara Sterling has a file full of bruises she didn't report until last night."
Julian’s smirk vanished, replaced by a momentary flash of venom before he quickly masked it. Clara had talked. That meant she had finally found the courage to speak about the isolated mansion, the locked doors, and the financial stranglehold he used to keep her compliant. But Julian wasn't worried about local detectives. He had high-priced legal counsel on speed dial, men and women who specialized in turning victims into villains and rewriting narratives in a courtroom.
"My wife is confused," Julian said smoothly, his voice dropping into a register of practiced concern. "She needs medical help. If you keep me here, you are only delaying the care she desperately requires. I want my lawyer, and I want my family returned to my custody immediately."
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Vance closed the folder with a sharp snap. "Your lawyer is already outside, Mr. Sterling. But custody is going to be decided by a family court judge, not you. And from what my team is uncovering about your business dealings and your home life, you might want to start worrying about a lot more than a domestic dispute."
As Vance stood up and left the room, Julian let out a slow, controlled breath. The facade of calm remained intact, but his mind raced. They were digging into his finances. That was dangerous. The green velvet suits, the luxury cars, the philanthropic galas—it was all a polished veneer built on a foundation of corporate embezzlement and hidden assets. If the authorities looked too closely at his business accounts, Clara’s escape would become the least of his problems. He needed to get out, and he needed to silence her before she handed the prosecutors the keys to his entire empire.
