Chapter 7 - The Interrogation at Sunrise
By 5:30 AM, the autumn fog had burned off into a pale, watery dawn, but the cold tension inside the study remained razor-sharp.
Marcus and two of his elite security operatives stood quietly near the doorway, while across the mahogany desk sat a sweating, pale-faced man in an expensive but rumpled Brioni suit: Arthur Pendelton, the longtime legal counsel for the Hale family trust. Marcus had intercepted him three hours earlier as he attempted to board an emergency red-eye flight out of Dulles International Airport.
Pendelton nervously adjusted his silk tie, his eyes darting frantically between Marcus and the firearm resting casually on the edge of my desk.
"Mrs. Hale... Claire, this is completely irregular," Pendelton stammered, clearing his throat nervously. "Detaining me under private guard? This borders on unlawful kidnapping! I demand to speak to my counsel—"
"You can speak to whoever you want, Arthur, after you answer my questions," I interrupted, my voice devoid of any warmth. I slid the threatening note across the desk, letting it stop right in front of his shaking hands. "Recognize the handwriting?"
Pendelton glanced down at the paper. The color drained completely from his face, leaving his skin a sickly, ashen gray. He swallowed hard, his fingers twitching away from the note as if it were coated in poison.
"I... I don't know what this is," he muttered, staring fixedly at the polished wood. "I'm just a corporate attorney. I handle probate and asset management."
"You handle whatever illegal slush funds Derek and Vivian pay you to hide," I corrected him, standing up and leaning over the desk so he had no choice but to meet my eyes. "Someone scaled my perimeter last night and left this note threatening my infant son. The only people who knew the exact details of the offshore forensic audit were you, the federal prosecutors, and the inner circle of the Hale estate. So let’s skip the amateur hour, Arthur. Who hired the muscle?"
Pendelton’s breath hitched. He looked terrified—not of me, but of whoever was pulling his strings from the shadows.
"It wasn't... it wasn't Derek," Pendelton whispered, his voice trembling so badly I had to lean in to catch the words. "Derek is an idiot who spends his time at poker tables and country clubs. He doesn't even know how to contact private contractors."
"Then who?" Marcus demanded, stepping forward and placing a heavy, authoritative hand on the back of Pendelton’s chair.
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"Julian Vance," Pendelton choked out, closing his eyes in defeat. "The head of Apex Logistics and Security. He... he bought out Samuel’s secondary corporate debt three years ago before Samuel could pay it off. When you froze the corporate accounts, you didn't just lock out Derek. You locked out Julian’s primary laundering pipeline. He’s coming for the entire estate, Claire. And he doesn't care who he has to crush to get the decryption keys."
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