Chapter 3 - The Interrogation Room

The interrogation room at the JFK Port Authority precinct smelled of stale coffee and industrial cleaner. The harsh fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting stark shadows across the stainless-steel table.
Martha was sobbing loudly into a crumpled tissue, her Gucci scarf wadded up in her lap, while Arthur sat rigidly in his chair, his face alternating between furious denial and pale terror.
The heavy metal door clicked open, and Special Agent Miller walked in, tossing a thick manila folder onto the center of the table. He pulled out a chair, sat down, and folded his hands, looking across the table with unblinking professional coldness.
“Let’s start from the top,” Agent Miller said, opening the folder. “According to the New York title registry, a deed transfer for a property located in Lake Placid was executed yesterday afternoon for five hundred thousand dollars cash. The signature on the deed is Elena Miller. Problem is, Elena Miller has been residing in a Paris hotel suite for the last four days, and her digital passport logs prove she never signed a power of attorney for this transaction.”
Arthur slammed his palms against the metal table, rattling the coffee cups. “That’s absurd! We are her parents! She gave us full legal authority to manage her real estate assets while she was overseas building her career!”
“Really?” Miller raised an eyebrow, pulling a single sheet of paper from the folder and sliding it across the table. “Because this document—the original limited Power of Attorney for motor vehicle registration you had her sign seven months ago—has been altered. The text was digitally scanned, the legal scope expanded to include real property liquidation, and a forged notary seal stamped by a lapsed notary in Yonkers who happens to be your cousin.”
Martha gasped, covering her mouth with her trembling hands. “We... we just wanted to help her! She has no idea how to manage money! We were securing our retirement!”
“By liquidating your daughter’s sole inheritance from her deceased grandmother, buying first-class tickets to Dubai, and attempting to flee the country with half a million dollars in liquid wire proceeds?” Miller’s voice cut like a scalpel. “That’s not retirement planning, Mr. and Mrs. Miller. That’s federal grand larceny. The bank accounts where you deposited the wire transfer have already been frozen by court order. The cash is gone, the house sale has been placed under a federal lis pendens injunction, and you are facing up to twenty years in a federal penitentiary.”
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Arthur’s face drained of every drop of color. The gold Rolex on his wrist suddenly felt like a heavy iron shackle.
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