Chapter 12 - The Interrogation of a Traitor
The convoy screeched to a halt outside the 18th District police precinct where Julian Vance was being temporarily held before federal processing.
Detective Briggs had arranged a five-minute emergency stop before tactical command took over the Webster Avenue operation.
"He won't talk to the state prosecutors, but he might break if he sees what he failed to destroy," Briggs said, opening Evelyn's door.
Evelyn stepped out into the biting wind, her crimson dress catching the harsh fluorescent lights of the sally port.
"Stay inside with Marcus, Clara; this will only take a moment," Evelyn instructed, keeping her daughter securely behind bulletproof glass.
Clara nodded through her tears, watching her mother walk toward the steel holding cells with the poise of an executioner.
Behind heavy steel bars in an isolated interrogation room, Julian Vance sat handcuffed to a stainless-steel table.
His bespoke tuxedo jacket had been stripped away, leaving him in a rumpled white dress shirt torn at the collar from Marcus's grip.
The red imprints of Evelyn's two open-handed slaps were now dark, ugly bruises blooming across both sides of his arrogant jaw.
When the heavy metal door clicked open, Julian looked up with a sneer that barely masked the naked terror swimming in his dark eyes.
"Come to beg for mercy, Evelyn?" Julian spat, rattling the steel chains anchored to the table.
"You think putting me in cuffs stops what's coming for your spoiled little brat?" Julian hissed, leaning forward aggressively.
Evelyn did not flinch, nor did she sit down on the metal chair across from him.
She walked directly up to the edge of the table, looking down at him with an expression of freezing, contemptuous pity.
"You are not a criminal mastermind, Julian; you are a bankrupt coward drowning in forty million dollars of syndicate debt," Evelyn stated coldly.
Julian's sneer twitched, a sudden flicker of panic flashing across his features before he could compose his mask.
"You don't know who I work for, Evelyn... they will tear your family apart piece by piece," Julian threatened, raising his voice.
"I know exactly who you work for," Evelyn replied, pulling out her personal phone and tapping the screen.
"Arthur froze all your accounts thirty minutes ago, and our forensic accountants just handed the federal prosecutor your offshore routing numbers," she revealed.
"Every single shell company in the Cayman Islands, every laundering ledger in Cyprus, completely seized by the United States Treasury," Evelyn whispered.
Julian’s jaw dropped slightly, the blood draining from his lips as the full magnitude of his exposure hit him like a physical blow.
"The people you owe forty million dollars to don't care about your marriage certificate anymore, Julian," Evelyn continued without blinking.
"They know you failed to secure the Mercer trust fund, and they know you got yourself arrested in front of fifty national journalists," she pressed ruthlessly.
"To your syndicate, you are no longer a partner; you are an active liability who is about to trade their names for a lighter sentence," Evelyn observed.
Julian began to hyperventilate, his chest heaving against the tight constraints of his dress shirt.
"They will slaughter you in federal prison before you even finish your first meal," Evelyn whispered, leaning down until her eyes locked with his.
"Unless you give Detective Briggs the abort code for the team currently standing outside Clara's apartment," Evelyn demanded fiercely.
Julian stared into Evelyn's eyes, realizing for the first time that the gentle, refined widow he thought he could manipulate was made of iron.
"There... there is no abort code," Julian stammered, his arrogant bravado crumbling into a pathetic, trembling whimper.
"What do you mean there is no abort code?" Detective Briggs barked from the doorway, stepping into the room with her notepad.
"The contract was paid in cryptocurrency half up front; they operate on a radio silence deadline," Julian confessed frantically.
"If they don't receive an encrypted confirmation ping by nine o'clock, they breach the apartment to sanitize the target and retrieve the safe," Julian cried.
Evelyn glanced at the industrial wall clock hanging over the holding cell door.
The hands pointed directly to eight forty-eight; they had exactly twelve minutes before the mercenaries executed their raid.
"Who is leading the team on Webster Avenue?" Evelyn demanded, grabbing Julian by his rumpled shirt collar and jerking him forward.
"Kovacs! A former private military contractor named Viktor Kovacs!" Julian shouted, terrified of the woman who held him.
"He drives a gray utility van parked in the alley behind the courtyard, monitoring local police frequencies!" Julian yelled out completely.
Evelyn released his collar with pure disgust, wiping her fingers against her crimson dress as if she had touched raw rot.
"You signed your own death warrant the second your hand struck my child's face," Evelyn said, turning her back on him.
"Evelyn, please! Put me in protective custody! You have to tell the federal marshals to protect me!" Julian screamed as the heavy steel door slammed shut.
His pathetic cries echoed down the empty corridor, suffocated by the cold cinderblock walls of the precinct.
Evelyn strode through the exit doors, her heels clicking like gunshots on the polished concrete floor.
"Briggs, did your tactical units hear that?" Evelyn asked as they burst into the night air.
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"Every single word," Detective Briggs confirmed, already speaking rapidly into her tactical headset.
"SWAT has eyes on the gray utility van in the alleyway; we are moving in to neutralize before nine o'clock," Briggs reported with grim determination.
