Chapter 4 - The Interrogation in the Dark
Two stories beneath the mansion, the air was cold, damp, and smelled of aging oak wine casks and damp earth.
The lower wine cellar had no windows. The single overhead bulb cast a harsh, yellow glare over the concrete floor and the heavy wooden chair where Vivien Rossi was tied securely by her wrists and ankles.
Her white silk dress was stained with dust. Her hair had come unpinned, falling in tangled blond strands across her face.
When she heard the heavy iron door unlock and swing open, she jerked her head up, blinking against the light.
I walked out of the shadows, my charcoal overcoat unbuttoned, a heavy leather ledger tucked under my arm. I pulled up an old wooden stool, sat down directly in front of her, and placed the ledger across my knees.
“You look uncomfortable, Vivien,” I said evenly.
“You can’t do this, Julian,” she spat out, her voice raspy from crying and screaming. “My family has political connections in Washington! When the FBI realizes I’m missing—when they find out what you’ve done—they’ll tear this estate down to the foundation!”
“The FBI won’t be looking for you in Westchester,” I replied, opening the ledger to a marked page. “According to the public statement my legal team released ten minutes ago, Miss Vivien Rossi suffered a sudden, severe psychological breakdown this afternoon, canceled our wedding, and boarded a private flight back to her family estate in Europe to seek immediate medical treatment.”
Vivien went rigid. “You... you lied to the press?”
“I managed the narrative,” I corrected mildly. “Just like I managed your bank accounts in Zurich. By sunrise tomorrow, those accounts will be drained, your shell company in the Caymans will be flagged for federal tax evasion, and your father’s shipping licenses in Chicago will be revoked by the interstate commerce commission.”
She stared at me in absolute horror. “You’re destroying my entire family over some stolen documents?!”
“I’m destroying the people who tried to destroy mine,” I said, closing the ledger with a sharp thud that echoed off the stone walls. “You had access to my home, my table, and my bed. You traded that intimacy for Viktor Vance’s blood money. In my world, that isn't espionage—it’s suicide.”
“Please, Julian... please,” she whimpered, the defiant facade finally shattering completely as tears spilled over her cheeks. “I’ll do whatever you want! I’ll work for you! I’ll give you Vance’s location! Just don’t let them touch me—!”
I stood up from the stool, looking down at her with total, absolute indifference.
May you like
“Vance’s location is already being handled,” I said, turning toward the heavy iron door. “And as for you... you won't be touched. You’ll simply be forgotten.”
I stepped out into the hallway, signaling to Daniel to secure the deadbolt.
