Chapter 13 - Interrogation in the DarkAgent Miller woke up strapped securely to a heavy steel chair in the subterranean sub-level of the Moretti Tower. The room was cold, damp, and lit by a single swinging overhead bulb that cast harsh shadows across his bruised face.
I stood directly in front of him, arms crossed, studying him the way I used to study calculus equations—looking for the variable that made everything else make sense.
"You've been feeding Thomas Carter intelligence for eight years," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "And in exchange, he gave you a cut of the stolen fifty million. Where is the rest of that money hidden, Miller?"
Miller spat a glob of blood onto the concrete, glaring up at me with pure venom. "Go to hell, you delivery bitch. I'm a federal officer. You can't touch me—"
CRACK.
Dominic stepped out of the darkness and delivered a brutal, lightning-fast right hook straight across Miller’s jaw, snapping his head violently to the side.
"Agent Miller," Dominic said smoothly, leaning down so his face was inches from the federal officer's ear. "You aren't dealing with standard criminals right now. You're dealing with the people who own the judges, the politicians, and the prisons in this state. You will talk, or we will hand you over to the Colombian cartels who owe us a very large favor."
Miller swallowed hard, the tough-guy facade instantly shattering as the cold reality of his situation set in. He looked at me, then at Dominic, realizing there was no escape.
"Okay! Okay, stop!" Miller gasped, hyperventilating. "The remaining forty million... it isn't in a bank. Thomas didn't trust digital servers after the FBI started monitoring him. He put the physical bearer bonds and hard-drive keys in a high-security vault at the First National Bank of Geneva... under a secondary alias."
I pulled out my encrypted tablet, cross-referencing the bank code with international routing protocols. "Account number?"
"The passcode..." Miller stammered, reading a twelve-digit alphanumeric sequence off a blood-stained business card in his pocket. "It's your mother's birthday. Combined with your father's old employee ID."
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I stared at the screen as the database verified the entry. Forty million dollars of stolen syndicate capital, sitting in a neutral-territory Swiss vault, waiting to be claimed.
I looked up at Dominic, a cold, knowing smile crossing my face. "Looks like we have another trip to Europe to plan."
