Chapter 3 - The Interrogation Room
The cold, metal handcuffs dug painfully into my wrists as I sat in the sterile federal interrogation room.
Two stern agents sat across the metal table, sliding a massive stack of printed financial documents toward me.
The lead agent confidently stated that they had undeniable proof of my direct involvement in international money laundering.
I took a deep breath, forcing my racing heart to slow down so I could think with absolute, clinical precision.
I told them that I was a certified forensic accountant and that the digital signatures on those documents were sophisticated forgeries.
The second agent scoffed loudly, pointing out that the money had been transferred to an account registered to my personal social security number.
I refused to let their intimidation tactics break my composure, knowing that Gael was likely celebrating his victory right now.
I formally requested my one guaranteed phone call, refusing to answer any more of their leading questions without legal representation.
The agents reluctantly uncuffed my right hand and slid a standard landline telephone across the scratched metal table.
I did not call my corporate attorney, because I knew he lacked the specific technical skills required for this impossible situation.
Instead, I dialed the private, unlisted number of my most trusted former colleague, a brilliant cybersecurity expert named Julian.
Julian answered immediately, his voice thick with sleep, as I quickly and quietly explained the catastrophic situation.
I gave him a highly encrypted backdoor access code that I had secretly built into the logistics company's mainframe years ago.
I instructed him to bypass Gael's new security protocols and extract the raw surveillance data from the executive hallway.
I knew that Gael and the Chief Financial Officer must have physically accessed my terminal to clone my biometric data.
Julian promised me that he would find the digital footprint and send the undeniable proof directly to the federal prosecutor's office.
I hung up the phone with a renewed sense of hope, confident that Julian's incredible skills would completely clear my name.
The lead agent walked back into the interrogation room, his expression incredibly dark and undeniably furious.
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He slammed his hands on the table and demanded to know who I had just contacted on the secure line.
He informed me that Julian's apartment had just been completely destroyed in a massive, suspected gas explosion.
