Chapter 3 - The Interrogation
Deep beneath the manicured lawns and stone fountains of the Hale estate, the sub-basement was cold, silent, and illuminated only by bare industrial fluorescent lights.
Victor Langford was tied to a heavy steel chair in the center of a concrete room. His expensive suit trousers were torn, his hair disheveled, and his face covered in a light sheen of cold sweat.
Marcus stood near the iron door, his arms crossed over his massive chest, watching quietly as Preston walked into the room carrying a leather bound dossier.
Victor looked up, his breathing ragged. "Preston... please. You have to believe me. I was desperate! My gambling debts in Macau... they were going to kill my son!"
Preston didn't react to the emotional plea. He set the dossier on a metal folding table and pulled up a wooden stool, sitting down directly across from his former partner.
"Who bought your debt, Victor?" Preston asked calmly.
"I can't say their name," Victor whimpered, his confidence entirely destroyed. "If I say it, they’ll slaughter my family before the sun comes up."
"If you don't say it," Preston replied, his voice dropping into a quiet, terrifying whisper, "you won't live to see the sun come up yourself. Choose."
Victor swallowed hard, his throat clicking in the quiet room. He looked into Preston’s eyes and saw no mercy, no history, and no lingering affection for fifteen years of friendship. He knew he was talking to the sovereign of the Midwest underground.
"The... the Rostov Syndicate," Victor stammered out, his teeth chattering. "Dimitri Rostov. He approached me three months ago in Zurich. He knew about the European logistics merger. He wanted control of the Chicago port access routes."
Preston’s eyes narrowed slightly. Dimitri Rostov was a Ukrainian oligarch and syndicate leader who had been trying to breach the American shipping lines for a decade. Preston had personally blocked Rostov's expansion into the Great Lakes three years prior.
"How did he get the poison into the house?" Preston demanded.
"He... he had help," Victor confessed, hanging his head. "Someone inside your inner circle, Preston. Not just me. Someone who manages the estate staff, someone who had access to the pantry inventory and the security schedule for the dinner."
Preston stood up slowly, a cold, lethal anger settling into his chest. "Evelyn?"
Victor nodded faintly. "Evelyn Vance. Your head of domestic logistics. She’s been on Rostov's payroll for six months."
Preston turned to Marcus. "Where is Evelyn right now?"
"She was scheduled to oversee the morning shift at six AM," Marcus reported smoothly. "She is currently in the staff administrative offices on the ground floor."
"Bring her," Preston ordered. "And Marcus?"
"Sir?"
"Ensure Denise and Mabel are moved to the interior security wing immediately. No one enters or leaves this property without my personal clearance."
"Understood, Mr. Hale."
Preston looked down one last time at Victor, who was sobbing softly against his restraints.
May you like
"Fifteen years, Victor," Preston said quietly. "You traded my life for a roulette table."
Without waiting for an answer, Preston walked out of the concrete cell, the heavy iron door sealing shut behind him with a final, echoing metallic thud.
