Chapter 7 - The Interrogation Room
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Three days later, I sat in a high-security interrogation room at the federal building in downtown D.C. My left arm was encased in a heavy fiberglass cast, held tightly in a dark sling against my chest.
Across the stainless-steel table sat Ethan.
The arrogance that had defined him for years was completely hollowed out. He was dressed in a dull grey jumpsuit, his hair unwashed, his wrists cuffed to a chain around his waist.
“Clara,” he whimpered, leaning forward as far as his chains allowed. “Thank God you came. You have to tell the prosecutor that the chair was an accident. Tell them I slipped! I lost my temper because I was stressed about the company!”
I looked at him, feeling a strange sense of detachment. The man who had terrified me for years now looked impossibly small.
“It wasn't an accident, Ethan,” I said, my voice steady and cold. “You tried to break me because you couldn't control me.”
“I love you!” he pleaded, tears welling in his red-rimmed eyes. “We can get past this! I’ll go to counseling! I’ll do whatever you want! Just don't let them send me to prison! My lawyer says I’m looking at twenty years for the fraud alone!”
“You used my name, Ethan,” I replied, leaning closer to the table. “You used my service, my sacrifice, and my security clearance to commit treason. You put my career and my freedom on the line to cover your own pathetic failures.”
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“My mother is sick, Clara!” he tried, switching tactics. “She can’t survive in a federal facility! Have some mercy!”
“Mercy?” I let out a bitter, quiet laugh. “She watched you swing that chair and looked down at her program. Your whole family is rotten, Ethan. And now the state is going to clean house.”
