Chapter 6 - The Interrogation Room
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The interrogation facility at the federal building was stark, windowless, and smelled faintly of floor wax and stale coffee. A single overhead fluorescent tube buzzed with a low, irritating hum that grated on the nerves.
Conrad Voss sat on the opposite side of the steel table. The federal suit jacket he had managed to throw on before being transferred could not mask the profound physical aging that had overtaken him in less than twenty-four hours. His skin was pale, his shoulders slumped, and his hands trembled slightly as he folded them on the table.
I walked into the room, my boots clicking rhythmically against the concrete floor. I carried a single manila folder under my arm.
Conrad looked up, his eyes bloodshot and desperate. "Elise," he rasped, his voice rough. "You can't do this. I'm your father. Family doesn't put family behind bars."
I pulled out the metal chair, sat down across from him, and placed the folder neatly on the table.
"Family?" I repeated, my voice even and devoid of emotion. "Is that what you called it when you locked the front door in the middle of a freezing downpour? Is that what you called it when you told a nineteen-year-old girl she was nothing? You killed any claim to that word twenty-one years ago, Conrad."
"I was hard on you because you had to learn how the real world works!" he snapped, a brief flash of his old arrogance flaring up before crashing back down under the weight of reality. "The world doesn't care about your feelings, Elise! It cares about power! And now look at you—you’ve torn apart the very empire that secured our family's standing for generations!"
"Your empire was built on treason and human misery," I replied, opening the folder to reveal a series of wire transfer records. "Let’s talk about the Vanguard Syndicate, Conrad. Let's talk about the offshore accounts in the Caymans where your shell companies deposited millions of dollars from foreign defense ministers."
Conrad's eyes widened fractionally. He swallowed hard, his jaw working as he realized the depth of the intelligence network at my disposal. "You... you tracked those accounts? Those are protected by international maritime law—"
"Those accounts are locked under federal national security directives," I corrected him smoothly. "And every single dollar is currently being seized by the Department of Justice. Your board of directors is already turning on each other to secure plea deals. Damian has been crying in holding for the last three hours, begging for a lawyer."
A shudder ran through Conrad’s frame at the mention of Damian. For all of Conrad's cold calculus, his eldest son was his ultimate weakness—a spoiled, incompetent reflection of his own worst traits.
"Leave Damian out of this," Conrad whispered, his voice cracking. "He didn't know the full extent of the shipments. He was just signing papers where I told him to sign."
"Ignorance of federal treason is not a legal defense, Conrad," I said, closing the folder with a sharp snap. "Your son chose to inherit your cruelty without earning a single ounce of your ambition. He will face trial right alongside you."
Conrad slumped back in his chair, staring at me across the cold steel table. The man who had once dictated the economic pulse of the Pacific Northwest was broken.
"Why?" he asked quietly, the anger entirely gone, leaving only a hollow, pathetic shell. "Why come back like this? Why not just stay away?"
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"I didn't come back for you," I said, standing up and smoothing my uniform jacket. "I came back because your greed threatened my sailors. You thought you were playing a high-stakes corporate game. But you forgot one fundamental rule, Conrad: when you play with the sea, you eventually drown."
I turned and walked toward the heavy steel door, leaving him alone in the humming dark.
