Chapter 12 - The Interrogation of Julian Drake
The subterranean corridors of the Chicago Federal Metropolitan Correctional Center smelled of industrial disinfectant and stale coffee.
Deputy Chief Miller greeted us at the heavy reinforced steel security door, his eyes dark with exhaustion but sharp with satisfaction.
"Drake has been sitting in Room 4B for three hours with his court-appointed attorney," Miller explained as we walked down the tiled hallway.
"He refused to utter a single syllable to our detectives."
"He thinks his offshore accounts are untouchable and that his high-priced corporate defense team will post bail by noon."
"Has he seen the Zurich trace?" Dad asked, his voice low and predatory.
"Not yet," Miller replied, handing Dad a manila folder filled with freshly printed wire transfers and encrypted server logs.
"We saved that bullet for you, Richard."
Miller buzzed the electronic release, and the heavy door to Room 4B slid back with a loud, mechanical hum.
Inside, Julian Drake sat at a stainless steel table, his tailored designer suit wrinkled and his expensive silk tie undone at the collar.
His slicked-back hair had fallen into disarray, and dark purple half-moons hung beneath his calculating eyes.
Beside him, an exhausted young public defender looked up from a yellow legal pad, sighing with relief that someone had interrupted the silence.
Drake’s eyes flashed with venomous mockery the moment Dad and I stepped through the doorway.
"Richard," Drake sneered, leaning back against the metal chair with an arrogant grin.
"And little Emily, still clinging to daddy's coattails after making a scene on the patio."
"You think holding me here on a bogus trespass charge at the bank is going to stick?"
"My firm's corporate attorneys will have me out before lunch, and I'll sue you and First Continental for unlawful detainment."
Dad didn't speak; he simply pulled the second metal chair out, turned it around, and sat down directly across the table from him.
I remained standing right beside Dad's shoulder, crossing my arms and looking directly into Drake’s arrogant smirk.
"You're not facing state trespassing charges, Julian," Dad said, his tone chillingly conversational.
"You're facing federal indictment for cross-border financial fraud, grand larceny, corporate espionage, and criminal conspiracy."
Drake barked out a short, hollow laugh that rattled against the bare cinderblock walls.
"Good luck proving criminal conspiracy based on an unverified power of attorney, Richard."
"Vanessa acted alone; she came to me asking for advice on Sarah's estate."
"I was merely acting as an independent financial consultant reviewing disputed assets."
"You can't link me to Patricia’s domestic battery against your precious little brat."
Dad leaned forward, resting both forearms on the cold steel table, his gray eyes narrowing until they looked like polished blades.
"We don't need Patricia's phone to bury you, Julian."
"We have the mirror server you installed inside my home's utility junction."
Drake’s smirk faltered slightly, a microscopic twitch betraying the muscle beside his left jawline.
"And more importantly," Dad continued, sliding the manila folder across the table until it tapped against Drake’s handcuffed wrists.
"We decrypted the satellite phone recovered from your aluminum briefcase."
"The incoming transmissions didn't originate from a private banking portal in Zurich."
"They originated from an encrypted relay routed through the Blackwood Trust."
At the mention of that name, the remaining arrogance drained from Julian Drake's face with the suddenness of a severed artery.
His pupils dilated in sheer terror, his mouth parting slightly as a cold sweat broke out across his forehead.
"The... the Blackwood Trust?" Drake stammered, his confident baritone cracking into a thin, breathless whisper.
"Yes, Julian," Dad said, leaning closer until their faces were barely inches apart.
"The private family holding company established thirty years ago by my father."
"The trust currently managed by a dead man."
"My brother, William."
Drake swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing convulsively against his open collar.
The young public defender looked frantically between his client and the manila folder, realizing the ground had just collapsed beneath their feet.
"Julian," the attorney warned, tapping Drake’s arm. "Do not answer that."
"Shut up!" Drake hissed at his own lawyer, his composure completely disintegrating into hysterical panic.
"You don't know who you're dealing with!"
"He told me Richard would never find the Zurich connection!"
"He told me the Swiss firewalls were military grade!"
"William lied to you, Julian," I said, speaking clearly into the tense air of the room.
Drake snapped his head toward me, his eyes wide and wild like a cornered animal.
"William used you as an expendable front," I continued, taking a step forward until Drake had to crane his neck to look up at me.
"He used Vanessa to humiliate me, he used Patricia to film it, and he used you to take the fall at the bank."
"Where is my uncle, Drake?"
Drake let out a ragged, trembling breath, burying his face in his cuffed hands as the full reality of his betrayal crushed him.
"He’s in Geneva," Drake choked out, his voice muffled against his palms.
"He lives in an unlisted villa above Lake Geneva under the alias Victor Vance."
"He had extensive reconstructive surgery after the crash in the Alps."
"He spent three years in private orthopedic clinics before he ever contacted me."
Dad’s jaw tightened until the tendons in his neck stood out like cables.
"When did he approach you, Julian?"
"Two years ago," Drake whispered, lifting his tear-streaked face. "He found me in London after you fired me from Harrison Enterprises."
"He knew I hated you, Richard."
"He knew I had access to your corporate network architecture and the security codes for your Chicago mansion."
"William promised me ten million dollars from Sarah’s trust if I recruited an operative who could infiltrate your personal life."
"Vanessa was an actress I scouted at a luxury concierge service in Miami."
"She was broke, vain, and drowning in half a million dollars of credit card debt."
"We promised her a lifestyle of unlimited wealth if she seduced you and secured your trust."
"And the dog collar?" Dad asked, his voice dropping into a register so dark the public defender flinched.
"Whose idea was it to put a dog collar on my daughter?"
Drake shuddered, looking down at the table, unable to meet my father's lethal gaze.
"William," Drake confessed, his voice breaking into a terrified sob.
"William sent that collar by private courier from Milan three weeks ago."
"He said Sarah’s daughter needed to be put on her knees before the whole world."
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"He said he wanted the video delivered to his private terminal in Geneva before midnight as proof that Richard Harrison’s bloodline had been broken."
"He’s waiting for the video right now."
