Chapter 14 - The Interrogation
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The basement of the Carter estate was a soundproof, concrete vault used for situations that required absolute privacy.
Preston was thrown violently into a metal chair in the center of the room. He was weeping openly, his designer clothes torn and ruined. The heavy steel door clicked shut, sealing him inside with the most terrifying man in Chicago.
Michael Carter stood in the shadows, smoking a cigar. He didn't speak immediately. He let the terrifying silence stretch, allowing Preston’s imagination to torture him before the interrogation even began.
“Mr. Carter, please,” Preston begged, his voice a hoarse, ragged sob. “Sergei Ivanov approached me. He said he just wanted to use her as leverage. He promised no one would be hurt!”
My father took a slow drag of his cigar, stepping into the pale light of the single overhead bulb.
“You sold the location of my daughter to a Russian hit squad because I took equity in a hotel, Preston,” my father said quietly. His voice carried no anger, only a chilling, absolute disappointment. “You traded a human life for a bruised ego.”
“I was stupid! I’m sorry!” Preston wailed. “I’ll give you everything! I’ll sign over my entire trust! Just let me live!”
“Your money is useless to me,” my father replied, walking slowly around the chair. “What I need, Preston, is Sergei. He has gone underground since the ambush failed. My men are sweeping the city, but the rat has found a deep hole. You are going to tell me where that hole is.”
Preston shook his head frantically. “I don't know! I swear! He only met me at a cigar lounge in the West Loop! He never told me where his safehouse was!”
My father paused. He looked down at the trembling boy, analyzing the sheer terror in his eyes. Preston was a coward; he wasn't brave enough to lie under this kind of pressure. He genuinely didn't know where Sergei was hiding.
“You are useless to me, Preston,” my father sighed, turning his back on him.
“Wait! Wait!” Preston screamed, desperate to find a shred of value to save his life. “I don't know where his safehouse is, but I know how they are moving their weapons! Sergei bragged about it! He said they are using the abandoned Hale shipping yards on the south riverfront! My father sold the property years ago, but the title transfer is tangled in litigation. The police never patrol it because it’s technically still private corporate property!”
My father stopped. A slow, dangerous smile crept onto his face.
“The Hale shipping yards,” my father murmured. It was the perfect staging ground. Isolated, fortified, and legally ambiguous. Sergei was hiding his remaining forces right under everyone’s noses.
“Yes! The shipping yards! Please, I gave you what you wanted!” Preston cried.
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My father looked at one of his lieutenants standing by the door.
“Lock him in,” my father ordered coldly. “When Sergei is dead, we will decide what to do with the trash.”
