Chapter 6 - The Interrogation in the Cellar
By midnight, the subterranean wine vaults beneath the Bellweather Estate were sealed under armed guard.
Marcus Sterling and his daughter Veronica sat tied to two heavy iron chairs in the center of the damp limestone chamber.
Sterling’s tuxedo was torn, his silver hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, while Veronica wept hysterically, her designer makeup ruined by frantic, humiliated tears.
Adrian walked into the cellar, flanked by Frank Callahan and me.
He pulled up a wooden stool, sitting down directly in front of Sterling, resting his elbows on his knees, his expression carved from sub-zero granite.
“You tried to poison my wife, Marcus,” Adrian said, his voice dropping into a register of quiet, terrifying finality.
“She’s not your wife!” Sterling spat, his bloodshot eyes darting with feral malice. “She’s an uneducated clerk from Queens! You forged the registry documents!”
“The registry documents were certified by the Supreme Court of the State of New York at four o'clock this afternoon, Marcus,” I said, stepping into the light, holding a thick leather folio bound with the red wax seal of the Department of Justice.
I opened the folio, laying the banking transcripts across Sterling’s lap.
“Over the past eighteen months,” I presented, “you siphoned one hundred and twelve million dollars from the syndicate’s pension reserves to finance illegal arms shipments to rogue factions in Eastern Europe. You used the aerospace patents you attempted to steal to collateralize personal gambling debts in Macau.”
Sterling’s breath hitched. He looked at the bank routing numbers, realizing that every single off-grid account, every shell corporation, and every encrypted alias had been forensically extracted and delivered to federal prosecutors.
“Where... where did you find these?” Sterling whispered in pure, paralyzed dread.
“I found them in the files you left in your Zurich safety deposit box three months ago,” I replied coldly. “The ones you thought your private courier delivered securely. I was the one who authorized his transit clearance.”
Adrian leaned forward, his face inches from Sterling’s trembling jaw.
May you like
“The council has voted, Marcus,” Adrian declared. “Your assets are seized. Your properties are liquidated. And you and your daughter will spend the remainder of your natural lives in the federal supermax facility in Florence, Colorado.”
As the federal marshals moved in to drag the screaming aristocrats down the dark corridor, Adrian stood up, took my hand in his, and led me out into the crisp, clean ocean air.
