Chapter 3 - The Interrogation Room
The fluorescent lights of the federal holding facility buzzed with a sharp, sterile hum. Across the metal interrogation table sat Julian Vance, stripped of his custom-tailored suit and forced into a standard orange jumpsuit that swallowed his slouching frame. The arrogant, untouchable smirk he had worn in the hospital room was entirely gone, replaced by a twitchy, hollow-eyed panic.
The door swung open, and I walked in, wearing my full Class-A Army dress uniform. The gold buttons gleamed, the ribbons on my chest represented decades of sacrifice, strategy, and unyielding discipline, and the eagle insignia on my shoulders seemed to cast a physical shadow over the small room.
I pulled out the metal chair opposite him, sat down, and folded my hands on the table. For a full minute, I didn't say a word. I just looked at him—the way a predator studies a trapped animal before closing in.
Julian swallowed hard, his voice trembling. "You... you can't hold me here. My attorney—"
"Your attorney is currently sitting in a holding cell two floors down, being questioned for obstruction of justice and witness tampering," I interrupted, my voice flat, cold, and devastatingly quiet. "Your father's corporate partners have already publicly distanced themselves from your entire bloodline. As of three hours ago, Vance Enterprises has been delisted from the stock exchange pending federal fraud investigations."
"This is an abuse of power!" Julian lashed out, slamming his cuffed hands against the table. "You're using the military as a personal weapon because your daughter tripped and fell! You're destroying us over a domestic dispute!"
"Domestic dispute?" I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the table, closing the distance between us until he could see the cold fury in my eyes. "You locked my daughter in a guest house. You beat her until her face was unrecognizable. You threatened to ruin her life if she tried to walk away. That isn't a domestic dispute, Julian. That is an act of war against my family."
"She's unstable!" he whimpered, trying to fall back on his old script. "She always exaggerates! She couldn't handle our lifestyle!"
"Let’s talk about your lifestyle," I said, reaching into my leather briefcase and sliding a thick manila folder across the table. I flipped it open, revealing high-resolution financial ledgers, text message logs, and sworn affidavits from three of his previous girlfriends who had mysteriously disappeared from public view after trying to leave him. "Shall we read through the depositions of the women you abused before Maya? Shall we examine how many payoffs your family’s corrupt judges buried over the last decade?"
Julian’s face drained of what little color it had left. His mouth opened, but no words came out.
"You picked the wrong family to terrorize, Julian," I continued, my tone dropping to a lethal whisper. "You thought wealth and local politics made you gods. But gods bleed when they face an enemy with superior firepower, infinite patience, and absolute jurisdiction."
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"Please," he whispered, his bravado finally completely shattered, tears spilling over his lower eyelids. "Please... just let me talk to my mother. Tell her to fix this."
"Your mother is currently being booked in the cell next to yours," I said, standing up and smoothing down the front of my uniform. "And unlike you, she’s smart enough to realize that nobody is coming to save the House of Vance."
