Chapter 3
Interrogation Room 3B of the federal detention facility reeked of stale coffee and decades of despair, but Daniel sat at the metal table wearing an expression of supreme annoyance. His high-priced defense attorney, Marcus Sterling, adjusted his tie nervously across the table, whispering warnings about the overwhelming mountain of digital evidence stacking against them. "Mr. Hale, the U.S. Attorney’s office has possession of your offshore accounts, your text messages to Ms. Vance, and the hospital security logs," Sterling warned gravely. Daniel scoffed, waving his cuffed hands dismissively. "My wife is too weak to let me rot in here; she’ll settle out of court to protect our family name," Daniel muttered with absolute delusion.
The heavy steel door swung open smoothly, and Clara walked into the interrogation room wearing a tailored navy suit that radiated absolute power and authority. She didn't look like the devastated mother crying over an ICU bed anymore; she looked like the primary shareholder holding the mortgage on his entire existence. Daniel’s arrogant smirk faltered for a fraction of a second as Clara pulled out the chair opposite him, sitting down without uttering a single greeting. "Looking for sympathy, Daniel?" Clara asked, her voice as cold and sharp as shards of winter ice sliding across glass.
"Clara, drop this ridiculous drama and tell these federal thugs to let me go home so we can handle this privately," Daniel demanded, trying to project fake executive dominance. Clara slid a single sheet of paper across the metal table—a comprehensive asset forfeiture document stripping him of every single cent, vehicle, and property he owned. "You signed away your rights the moment you traded our daughter’s life for a corporate promotion and a mistress," Clara stated evenly, sliding her pen toward his cuffed hands. "Sign the uncontested divorce papers and plead guilty to the federal indictments, or spend the next twenty-five years in a maximum-security federal penitentiary."
