Chapter 4 - The Interrogation RoomThe interrogation room at the downtown FBI field office smelled of stale coffee, old paper, and institutional despair. The metal table was bolted to the floor, and the two-way mirror on the wall hummed with a low, menacing electronic current.
Claire sat in the hard metal chair, her hands cuffed loosely in front of her. Her white coat had been confiscated, leaving her in her navy blue scrubs.
She hadn't spoken a word since Vance had dragged her out of the hospital at gunpoint three hours ago. Her mind was racing, calculating, panicking.
Mia. Is Kate with her? Did the neighbors see the unmarked cars pull up?
The heavy steel door swung open, and Agent Vance walked in, carrying a thick manila folder. He dropped it onto the table with a loud thud, pulled out the opposite chair, and sat down, lacing his fingers together.
"Impressive resume, Dr. Callahan," Vance said smoothly, opening the folder. "Top of your class at Johns Hopkins. Fellowship at Harbor Ridge. Clean record. Zero priors. Until tonight, when you spent forty-five minutes alone in an ICU room with a man running a billion-dollar criminal empire."
"I was treating a patient," Claire said coldly, her voice level. "Last time I checked, the Hippocratic Oath supersedes your federal ego."
"A patient?" Vance laughed softly, leaning forward. "Dr. Callahan, Dante Moretti isn't just a patient. He’s the CEO of Moretti Logistics, a syndicate that has laundered more money through the Port of Seattle than the entire state tax revenue. And you were engaged to him. You lived with him for two years."
"We broke up six years ago," Claire corrected sharply. "He walked out. I haven't seen him since."
"Until he conveniently crawled back into your emergency room bleeding from three bullet wounds," Vance countered, his eyes narrowing. "Come on, Claire. Can I call you Claire? Let’s skip the bureaucratic dance. Where is the ledger?"
Claire blinked, genuinely confused. "What ledger?"
"Don't play games with me," Vance snapped, slamming his palm flat against the metal table. The loud bang echoed through the small room. "Dante Moretti didn't get ambushed by a rival gang. He was betrayed from the inside. One of his lieutenants tried to wipe him out and steal the master digital ledger containing the offshore accounts, the political payoffs, and the names of every federal official on Moretti's payroll."
Vance leaned in close, his face inches from hers. "And for the last six years, that ledger has been missing. We think Dante hid it before he vanished. And we think... when he crawled into your ER tonight... he was trying to pass it to you."
Claire stared at him in absolute disbelief. "Are you out of your mind? I’m a cardiothoracic surgeon. I save lives; I don't store mob accounting books in my surgical scrubs!"
"Prove it," Vance challenged, sliding a document across the table. "Sign this voluntary consent form allowing a full federal sweep of your house, your bank accounts, and your personal electronics. If you have nothing to hide, it should be an easy signature."
Claire looked down at the paper. Her signature would give the FBI a legal warrant to tear her home apart—to find Mia’s drawings, her toys, her room. To terrorize her six-year-old daughter in the middle of the night.
"I want a lawyer," Claire said firmly, pushing the paper back across the table.
May you like
Vance’s smile vanished, replaced by a cold, predatory mask. "You can ask for all the lawyers you want, Dr. Callahan. But while you're sitting here playing legal games, my tactical team is already pulling up to your house on Queen Anne Hill."
Claire’s heart stopped.
