Chapter 8 - The Interrogation in the Dust
The man in the tactical suit did not raise a weapon. He stood tall amid the broken glass and overturned cushions, turning Clara's dead cell phone over slowly in his gloved palm as if inspecting an insect.
"You have terrible taste in interior design, Ms. Henderson," the man said, his voice smooth, calm, and utterly devoid of warmth. "And even worse taste in relatives."
Clara gripped the edge of the shattered doorframe, her knuckles whitening. "Who are you? What do you want with my family?"
"Your brother-in-law stole property belonging to an entity that does not exist on any public registry," the man replied, taking a measured step toward her. "He thinks encrypted files on a portable drive can save him from the consequences of industrial treason. But information isn't currency anymore, Ms. Henderson. It’s a contagion. And right now, your nephews are carrying the host."
"They are children," Clara spat back, her voice shaking with restrained fury. "They don't know anything about your company or your files."
"Oh, they know," the man said softly, stopping just a few feet away from her. He lifted the phone, pressing a hidden side button. To Clara's utter shock, the screen flickered to life, displaying a live thermal video feed of two small figures crawling through a concrete drainage pipe. "Children are remarkably honest when they are terrified. And they follow instructions without asking too many questions."
Clara lunged forward blindly, aiming a desperate shove at his chest, but the man sidestepped effortlessly, catching her wrist with iron force and pinning her arm behind her back with casual precision.
"Where are they heading, Clara?" the man murmured against her ear. "The park exit? Or the old rail yard?"
May you like
Before Clara could answer, a sudden, blinding flash of light erupted from the street outside, followed by the deafening roar of a heavy explosion.
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