Chapter 14 - The Prosecutor’s GambitThe interrogation room of the federal detention facility smelled harshly of bleached floors and stale coffee. Across the cold steel table sat Special Agent Marcus Thorne, a man with sharp graying temples and an expensive suit that reeked of political ambition. He slammed a heavy manila folder down onto the table.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game, Vance,” Agent Thorne snarled, leaning forward over the table. “We have enough wiretaps, financial records, and witness testimonies to lock you away beneath a maximum-security prison for the rest of your natural life.”

Alistair leaned back casually in his metal chair, his hands cuffed loosely to a bolted loop on the tabletop. He didn't look like a man facing life imprisonment; he looked like a chess grandmaster who had just spotted his opponent's fatal flaw.

“Is that so, Marcus?” Alistair asked smoothly, his voice laced with quiet amusement. “Funny. I didn't see my name on the primary corruption indictment you just sent to the Attorney General this morning.”

Thorne’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What are you talking about?”

Alistair tilted his head toward the one-way mirror. “Check your encrypted tablet, Agent. The one locked with Walter Pike’s master key.”

Frowning deeply, Thorne reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a secure tablet, and tapped the screen. As his eyes scanned the incoming data stream—automatically decrypted and timestamped by the files Viktor had just uploaded—the color rapidly drained from his face.

“This... this is impossible,” Thorne whispered, his hands trembling slightly as he scrolled through pages of hidden campaign donations, offshore shell companies, and personal bribes tied directly to his own name. “Where did you get this?”

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“From an old man who sat by his apartment window eating soup,” Alistair replied softly, his eyes locking onto Thorne with a terrifying intensity. “And from a little girl who refused to let his memory die in the dark. Now, here are your choices, Marcus: you can tear up those fake charges against me, or you can watch your entire career, your freedom, and your political sponsors burn to the ground before dinner.”

Thorne stared at the screen, sweat beading on his forehead, realizing too late that the trap had snapped shut—and he was the one inside its jaws.