Chapter 2 - The Interrogation
The largest man in the tactical squad stepped forward and aimed his weapon directly at Raymond’s head.
Raymond dropped the phone and raised his hands in absolute terror.
Before I could even shout a warning, the man pulled the trigger.
A muffled crack echoed through the room, and Raymond collapsed lifelessly onto his mahogany desk.
I froze in shock, unable to process the brutal murder that had just happened in front of my eyes.
Two of the tactical men grabbed my arms and forced me violently to the floor.
The leader snatched the blue passbook from the desk and slipped it into his tactical vest.
They pulled a black cloth hood over my head, plunging me into total darkness.
I was dragged out of the bank through what felt like a private rear exit.
They shoved me into the back of a van that smelled strongly of motor oil and metallic rust.
The drive lasted for what felt like an eternity, but my mind was racing with terrifying questions.
Who were these highly trained killers, and what did my simple wife have to do with them?
When the van finally stopped, I was pulled out and thrown into a hard metal chair.
The hood was ripped from my head, blinding me momentarily with harsh, bright industrial lights.
I was sitting in the middle of a massive, empty warehouse surrounded by concrete walls.
The leader of the squad stood in front of me, casually wiping Raymond’s blood off his gloves.
He told me that Florence had been holding something extremely valuable for his employers.
He explained that the passbook was actually a cipher key for a series of untraceable offshore accounts.
Those accounts contained over two hundred million dollars of laundered cartel money.
I stared at him in disbelief, insisting that my wife merely fixed old books in Berkeley.
The leader laughed cruelly and slapped me hard across the face.
He said Florence was the best money launderer on the West Coast, operating right under my wealthy nose.
He demanded to know the secondary passcode, claiming Florence must have left it with me before she died.
I told him the absolute truth, screaming that I knew nothing about any passcodes or illegal money.
The leader pulled out a hunting knife and pressed the cold steel against my throat.
He promised to carve the answers out of me piece by piece if I continued to lie.
Suddenly, the leader’s cell phone rang loudly in the echoing warehouse.
He stepped back, keeping his eyes on me, and answered the call on speakerphone.
A very familiar, arrogant voice filled the quiet room.
It was my son-in-law, Mason.
Mason calmly asked the leader if they had secured the passbook and eliminated the bank director.
The leader confirmed that they had the book and that Raymond was dead.
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Mason sighed with relief and gave his final, chilling order.
He told the men to make my murder look like a tragic suicide caused by overwhelming grief.
