Chapter 9 - The Interrogation
The fluorescent lights of the federal interrogation room hummed a steady, maddening rhythm. Seventy-two hours had passed since the raid. My divorce attorney had fast-tracked the paperwork, utilizing a military-specific clause that allowed for rapid dissolution in cases of felony spousal abuse and treason.
I stood behind the two-way glass with Agent Vance, watching David. He looked a decade older. His designer clothes were replaced by an orange jumpsuit; his arrogant posture had collapsed into a permanent slouch.
"He's singing," Vance said, sipping a terrible cup of breakroom coffee. "He gave up the offshore accounts, the names of the brokers he communicated with, everything. He's begging for a plea deal to avoid federal prison."
"Will he get one?" I asked.
"For espionage? Not a chance in hell," Vance replied grimly. "He's looking at twenty-five years to life in Florence ADX. His mother is facing a solid ten for the wire fraud and conspiracy charges regarding the life insurance."
Vance pushed a button on the intercom, allowing my voice to project into the room.
"David."
He jumped in his seat, his hollow eyes darting around the room until he focused on the mirrored glass. "Please," he croaked. "Please, I'm sorry. I just felt so small next to you. You were always so much better. I just wanted to be important."
"You made yourself important, David," I said, my tone completely devoid of emotion. "You are now a footnote in a federal counter-intelligence textbook on insider threats."
"What about the house?" he pleaded, grasping at anything. "What about my things?"
May you like
"The house is being sold. Your things were placed in a storage unit. The first month is paid for. After that, it’s not my problem."
I turned off the microphone. I didn't need to hear another word. The closure wasn't going to come from his apologies; it was going to come from his absence. I turned away from the glass and walked out of the observation room, leaving the rotting remains of my marriage behind me.
