Chapter 5 - THE WAREHOUSE INTERROGATION
The sound of dripping water echoed through the cavernous underground storage facility beneath Pier 42. The air smelled of salt, rust, and old engine oil.
I sat in a custom-built wheelchair equipped with heavy-duty shock absorbers to accommodate the heavy fiberglass casts on my legs. My father had insisted I stay in the hospital, but I refused. Arthur Vance had used my marriage, my love, and my companies to launch his war. I wasn't going to sit in a sterile room waiting for updates while the men who broke me decided my fate.
Dad walked beside my wheelchair, his expression unreadable as we approached a heavy steel door at the end of a long concrete corridor. Two massive guards in tactical gear stood on either side of the door. They nodded respectfully to my father and pulled the heavy iron handle.
The door groaned open.
Inside was a brightly lit, sterile room that looked more like an industrial freezer than an interrogation cell.
In the center of the room, sitting on two steel chairs facing each other, were Brandon and Melissa.
Their hands were zip-tied behind their backs, and their ankles were secured to the legs of the chairs. Brandon’s designer suit was ruined, stained with blood from the punch my father had delivered the night before. His arrogant, charming face was swollen and bruised. Melissa was sobbing quietly, her red evening gown torn and covered in dirt.
When Brandon looked up and saw me roll into the room, his eyes widened slightly, but the arrogant sneer quickly returned to his lips.
"Look who decided to join the party," Brandon mocked, spitting a streak of blood onto the concrete floor. "I have to admit, Emily, the wheelchair is a good look for you. Much more fitting for someone who finally learned their place."
My hands tightened on the armrests of my chair, my knuckles turning white. The urge to grab the heavy metal flashlight from my father's belt and smash it across Brandon's teeth was overwhelming. But I forced myself to remain calm. Panic and emotion were what Brandon fed on. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.
"Where is Arthur Vance?" Dad asked, his voice cold and flat, echoing off the concrete walls.
Brandon chuckled, leaning back in his chair as far as the zip-ties would allow. "You think I'm going to tell you? Arthur promised me a seat on the board of your syndicate once the takeover is complete. You can beat me all day, Abraham, but you can't stop the legal transfer of those assets."
"I don't need to stop the transfer," Dad said calmly, stepping closer. "I need to know where Arthur is hiding the master encryption key for the offshore accounts. The routing numbers Emily signed authorized a digital escrow. If Arthur doesn't input the final encryption key within forty-eight hours, the funds bounce back to the original trust."
Brandon's smile faltered for a fraction of a second, but he quickly recovered. "Nice try, old man. But Arthur is untouchable. He's surrounded by security that makes your little tactical team look like mall cops."
Dad didn't argue. He simply turned his head and looked at Melissa.
Melissa froze, her sobbing instantly cutting off as my father's dark, lethal gaze locked onto her.
"Melissa," Dad said softly. "You're a consultant. A smart girl. You know how numbers work."
Melissa swallowed hard, trembling violently. "I... I don't know anything! I just did what Brandon told me! He said Emily was unstable and that we needed to secure the assets before she bankrupted the companies!"
"Shut up, Melissa!" Brandon yelled.
Dad ignored him. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a thick manila folder, tossing it onto Melissa's lap.
"Those are flight manifests from O'Hare International Airport for the last three months," Dad said. "They show you boarding a private jet owned by Vance Holdings every other weekend. But you weren't traveling with Brandon. You were traveling alone."
Brandon frowned, turning his head as best as he could to look at Melissa. "What is he talking about?"
Dad smiled—a cold, predatory smile. "You didn't know, Brandon? Melissa isn't just your mistress. She's Arthur Vance's niece."
The color drained entirely from Brandon's face. He stared at Melissa, who was suddenly looking everywhere except at him.
"You... you told me your uncle was a retired banker," Brandon stammered.
"He is," Dad replied. "A banker who steals from syndicates. Melissa was Arthur's insurance policy, Brandon. To make sure you didn't get cold feet and run off with Emily's money before the transfer was complete."
"No!" Brandon shouted, thrashing against his zip-ties. "Arthur told me I was his protégé! He said we were partners!"
"Arthur doesn't have partners," Dad said, stepping directly in front of Brandon. "He has pawns. And you, Brandon, are a pawn who just outlived his usefulness."
Dad pulled a burner phone from his pocket, pressed a button, and held the screen up for Brandon to see.
It was a live security feed from the parking garage of Brandon's luxury downtown condo. A black SUV with tinted windows was parked near Brandon's reserved spot. Two men in dark suits stepped out, holding silenced pistols, clearly waiting for someone to arrive.
"Arthur sent a clean-up crew to your condo this morning," Dad said quietly. "If you had walked out of Emily's house last night with that remote, Arthur's men would have put a bullet in the back of your head before you even unlocked your front door. He was never going to share the syndicate with you."
Brandon stared at the screen, his chest heaving with panicked breaths. The realization that he had betrayed me, tortured me, and sold his soul for a promise that was entirely a lie finally hit him.
He looked at me, desperation pleading in his eyes. "Emily... Emily, please. I'm sorry. I didn't know he was going to kill me."
"You broke my legs, Brandon," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "You poisoned my dog. You cut off my hair in front of thirty people to humiliate me. I don't care if Arthur Vance kills you. I care about getting my life back."
Brandon swallowed hard, a tear of pure, selfish terror sliding down his bruised cheek.
"The encryption key," Brandon whispered rapidly, looking at my father. "It's not digital. Arthur is paranoid. He doesn't trust cloud servers. The key is physical."
"Where is it?" Dad demanded.
"He wears it," Melissa suddenly blurted out, tears streaming down her face as she tried to save herself. "It's on a flash drive hidden inside a silver pocket watch! The exact same kind of watch you carry, Mr. Yates! He never takes it off!"
Dad's eyes narrowed. "Where is he right now?"
Melissa hesitated, looking at Brandon, then back at my father. "He's hosting a private gala tonight at the Vance Estate on the North Shore. He's celebrating the acquisition of your companies. He invited all the city's top politicians and corporate heads to show them he's back in power."
Dad nodded slowly, absorbing the information. He turned to the two tactical guards at the door. "Keep them locked in here. Give them water, but no food. If they try to scream, gag them."
"Yes, sir," the guards replied in unison.
As Dad turned my wheelchair around to leave the room, Brandon called out one last time, his voice pathetic and broken.
"Emily! What happens to me now?"
I stopped my chair, looking back over my shoulder at the man I had once thought I would spend the rest of my life with.
May you like
"You wait for the monster to come home," I said coldly.
And as the heavy steel door slammed shut, sealing them in the dark, my father pushed my chair down the concrete corridor toward the waiting convoy of black SUVs. We had less than twelve hours to crash a gala and steal back an empire.
