Chapter 4 - THE INTERROGATION ROOMThe interrogation room at the Manhattan Federal Detention Center smelled of bleach and cold steel. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, David Thorne looked less like a titan of finance and more like a cornered rat.
The door clicked open, and Alexander Sterling walked in. He didn't wear a tie. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing the heavy gold watch on his wrist. He pulled out the metal chair opposite Thorne and sat down in absolute silence, staring at him until the silence became unbearable.
"You can't hold me here long, Alexander," Thorne finally snapped, trying to project a confidence he clearly didn't feel. "My lawyers are filing a writ of habeas corpus as we speak. This is a corporate dispute blown out of proportion."
"Corporate dispute?" Alexander repeated quietly. He slid a thick manila folder across the metal table and flipped it open. "This isn't a dispute, David. This is a forensic audit of your entire offshore network over the past four years. The shell companies in the Cayman Islands, the laundered funds from the Singapore shipping contracts, and—most importantly—the wire transfers to Celeste Fontaine’s personal Swiss account."
Thorne’s face paled instantly. He glanced at the papers, his eyes scanning the transaction IDs and bank stamps.
"Where... how did you get this?" Thorne stammered.
"When you spend twenty years building an empire, you learn to trust your instincts. But when a twelve-year-old street kid saves your life, you spend three hours with your private cyber-security division ripping every digital footprint your conspirators left behind to shreds," Alexander said, leaning forward. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice a fifty-million-dollar liquidity drain in the European division?"
"We would have voted you out at the quarterly board meeting next month," Thorne sneered, dropping the mask of civility. "You were getting old, Alexander. Too focused on philanthropy, too soft. The board wanted fresh blood. We just... accelerated the timeline."
"And Celeste?" Alexander’s voice dropped, carrying a lethal edge. "Was she part of the grand vision, or just a disposable tool?"
"She was desperate," Thorne laughed bitterly. "She wanted a lifestyle she couldn't afford on her own modeling contracts. We gave her a taste of the high life, and all she had to do was play the devoted girlfriend until we needed her to administer a little medical surprise." Thorne leaned back, grinning. "Too bad she mixed up the plates, isn't it? Poetic justice, really."
Alexander didn't flinch. He stood up slowly, buttoning his jacket.
"You're right about one thing, David," Alexander said softly, looking down at his former rival. "Justice can be poetic."
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"What’s that supposed to mean?" Thorne asked, a sudden chill creeping into his voice.
"It means," Alexander said at the door, "that Special Agent Miller just received copies of not only the poisoning conspiracy, but also your personal involvement in the embezzlement of pension funds from the Sterling employee trust. Federal pound-me-in-the-ass prison has a lovely ring to it, David. Enjoy your stay."
