THE WARDEN’S DEADLY MISTAKE: WHAT THE NEW INMATE WAS HIDING

The silence in the interrogation room was suffocating.

Vincent stood perfectly still, his hands cuffed behind his back. He didn't look at the gun pointed at his heart. His eyes drifted down to the Warden’s left wrist.

Peeking out from the cuff of Hayes's expensive suit was a heavy, silver chain attached to a vintage pocket watch.

Vincent knew that watch.

It was a custom-engraved 1940s Hamilton. It had belonged to his father-in-law, a good man who had been murdered three months ago. The same night Vincent’s wife, Sarah, was killed.

“Where did you get the watch, Hayes?” Vincent asked, his voice calm, yet carrying a lethal promise.

Hayes flinched. He tried to cover his wrist with his sleeve. “Shut up. You don't ask questions here. Washington called. Director Sterling wants this handled quietly. You were supposed to die in that cell, and I was supposed to write it off as a gang dispute.”

Vincent took a slow step forward. The gun didn't stop him.

“Director Sterling doesn't want me dead yet,” Vincent stated. “Sterling wants the data drive my wife hid before his men killed her. He put me in here because he thinks I’ll break and tell him where it is.”

“He doesn't need the drive anymore,” Hayes sneered, though the sweat beading on his forehead betrayed his confidence. “He has your daughter.”

The words struck Vincent like a physical blow.

Maya.

“Sterling is holding her at a secure location,” Hayes continued, his voice shaking. “He promised me a promotion if I made sure you never walked out of Blackridge. The watch was a down payment.”

Answer one, open two. Vincent now knew how Hayes was bought, and that Sterling had Maya. But why would Sterling order a hit in the cell if he still needed the data drive?

Because Sterling wasn't the one who ordered the hit.

Vincent looked at the terrified Warden. “Sterling didn't order those men to kill me. He needs me alive. Someone else paid them. Someone who wants to silence me before Sterling gets the drive.”

Hayes’s eyes went wide. The realization hit him. There was a shadow faction operating above Director Sterling, and Hayes had just stepped right into the middle of their crossfire.

“No,” Hayes whispered, lowering the gun an inch. “Sterling said he was in charge.”

“You’re a loose end, Hayes,” Vincent said softly. “They didn't just pay those inmates to kill me. They paid them to make sure nobody ever traces this back to Washington.”

Hayes stared at the silver watch on his wrist. He was a corrupt man, but he wasn't a fool. He realized he was standing in a locked, camera-less room with a lethal operative, and the people who hired him were likely already planning his funeral.

Suddenly, Hayes gasped.

He dropped the gun. His hands flew to his throat.

His face turned a violent shade of purple as he collapsed onto the concrete floor, convulsing. Foam bubbled at the corners of his mouth.

Vincent stepped back. Poison.

Someone had poisoned the Warden’s morning coffee.

Hayes thrashed against the floor, his eyes bulging. With his last ounce of strength, he reached into his pocket and threw a small, brass master key across the floor. It slid to a halt at Vincent’s boots.

Hayes let out a final, rattling breath, and his eyes glazed over.