Chapter 2 - The Federal Field Office
By 9:00 AM, I was walking through the heavy glass doors of the FBI field office in the city center.
I traded my torn vintage red gown for a sharp, tailored black blazer and dark jeans. I needed to look like the woman who was about to take control of a multi-million dollar charity foundation, not the victim who was dragged across a loading dock.
Agent Marcus Thorne was waiting for me in the lobby. In the harsh daylight, he looked even more imposing than he had the night before.
"Miss Sterling," Thorne greeted me, offering a polite nod. "How is the hand?"
"It'll heal," I replied smoothly. "Where do we start?"
Thorne led me down a maze of secure, sterile hallways to a small, windowless interview room. A stenographer was waiting quietly in the corner.
"We need a complete, chronological statement of everything that happened over the last six months," Thorne explained, sliding a cup of black coffee across the metal table toward me. "From the moment your father's health began to decline, to the exact location where you found the safety deposit key."
I sat down, taking a sip of the bitter coffee, and began to speak.
I told them everything. I detailed the slow, agonizing isolation my father endured as Eleanor systematically fired his loyal doctors and replaced them with her own paid quacks. I explained how she manipulated his medication, creating a haze of confusion that allowed her to forge the new will.
I didn't cry as I spoke. I had shed all my tears in the dark over the last six months. Now, I only had cold, absolute facts to deliver.
"And the confession you recorded last night?" Thorne asked, leaning forward, clearly impressed by my composure.
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"It was a calculated risk," I admitted, touching the spot on my blazer where the hidden microphone had been taped the night before. "I knew she wouldn't be able to resist bragging about her victory if she thought I was completely defeated. Her ego was always her biggest weakness."
"It was a brilliant maneuver," Thorne noted, closing his notebook. "You handed us the murder conviction on a silver platter."
