Chapter 7 - The Interrogation Room
The precinct interrogation room was deliberately uncomfortable. The air conditioning was cranked to a freezing temperature, and the single fluorescent bulb overhead cast harsh, unforgiving shadows across the scratched metal table. Richard Vance sat in a hard plastic chair, wearing his expensive, tailored charcoal suit, looking completely out of place in the grim reality of the criminal justice system.
Detective Thorne sat across from him, a thick manila folder resting on the table. For ten excruciating minutes, neither man said a word. Thorne simply let the silence suffocate Richard, watching as the wealthy patriarch shifted nervously, rubbing his shackled wrists.
"My lawyer is on his way, Thorne," Richard finally snapped, unable to endure the psychological pressure any longer. "This entire circus is a massive violation of my civil rights. I want to know who authorized this ridiculous arrest based on a piece of junk metal my delusional daughter found in the rubble."
"Your lawyer is stuck in traffic on the interstate," Thorne replied calmly, opening the folder. "And frankly, Richard, I don't think he's going to be able to help you much. We didn't just find a padlock. We executed a search warrant on your primary office server thirty minutes ago."
Richard’s eyes darted toward the door, a microscopic flicker of genuine panic breaking through his arrogant exterior. "My business finances are entirely confidential. You have no right to pry into my corporate accounts."
"We do when they establish a direct motive for attempted homicide," Thorne countered, pulling out a printed spreadsheet and sliding it across the table. "You are completely bankrupt, Richard. In fact, bankrupt is a generous term. You are severely underwater. You owe eight million dollars to a private equity firm that has documented ties to an organized crime syndicate. They gave you a final deadline of Friday. Today is Wednesday."
Richard swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. "Business ebbs and flows. I have massive assets I can liquidate. It proves nothing."
"It proves you were desperate," Thorne said, leaning forward, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "And desperation makes men do horrific things. We also pulled the terms of your late mother’s trust. The one she left exclusively to Evie. Fifty million dollars in liquid assets, transferring to Evie on her twenty-first birthday."
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Thorne tapped the spreadsheet with his index finger.
"Evie turns twenty-one tomorrow, Richard," Thorne stated, watching the final shred of hope die in the man's eyes. "If she dies before her birthday, the entire trust defaults to you as her next of kin. You didn't just lock a door. You tried to burn your own flesh and blood alive to pay off your debts."
