Chapter 6: The Interrogation
The fluorescent lights in Interview Room B buzzed with a low, irritating hum that seemed to vibrate right into the skull. Chloe sat rigidly at the scarred aluminum table. The glamorous aura she had weaponized for years was entirely stripped away.
Her designer red dress was torn and stained with dirt from her fall, her perfectly styled blonde hair hanging in limp, disorganized strands around her pale face. Her injured ankle was wrapped in a temporary splint provided by the jail’s medical staff, throbbing with a dull, persistent ache.
Beside her sat Richard Kellerman, a high-priced defense attorney who looked distinctly unhappy to be dragged out of bed at two in the morning. Across the table, Detective Vance sat next to Special Agent Thomas Harris of the FBI’s White Collar Crime Division.
"My client has been subjected to a traumatic, unprovoked assault in her own home," Kellerman began smoothly, opening his briefcase. "She acted entirely in self-defense against an intruder. Furthermore, denying her immediate transport to a private hospital for her injuries is a gross violation of her rights."
Agent Harris didn't even blink. He reached into his satchel, pulled out a sleek tablet, and slid it across the metal table. He tapped the screen once. The crisp, 4K footage from the mansion’s dome camera began to play.
The video was damning in its clarity. It showed the entire sequence without audio, but the visuals were undeniably brutal.
They watched the digital playback of Chloe standing over Elena, looking around to ensure the foyer was empty, and then deliberately, forcefully driving her heel into the younger woman’s ribs. There was no hesitation, no defensive posture—only calculated malice.
"Self-defense usually doesn't involve scanning the room for witnesses before stomping on a downed, incapacitated victim," Vance noted dryly, leaning back in his chair. "And it certainly doesn't explain why your client was trying to flee the jurisdiction with a packed overnight bag in the trunk of her car."
Kellerman cleared his throat, adjusting his tie. "Video footage can be highly misleading without context, Detective. The emotional state of my client—"
"Save the courtroom theatrics, Richard," Harris interrupted, his voice dropping to a hard, unyielding tone. He pulled a thick file folder onto the table, dropping it with a heavy thud. It was a photocopy of the black leather ledger.
"This is context. Thirty-two million dollars systematically drained from the Sterling Corporation's charitable foundation over twenty-four months. Routed through shell companies in Delaware and dumped into offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands. We have the routing numbers, we have the authorization signatures, and we have the physical ledger that your client tried to destroy."
Chloe stared at the photocopied pages. Her breath hitched. The air seemed to vanish from the small room. The ledger was the one thing she thought she had successfully hidden.
"This is a federal RICO case now, Mrs. Sterling," Harris continued, leaning over the table, invading her space. "Wire fraud, corporate espionage, aggravated assault, and embezzlement. You are looking at a minimum of twenty-five years in federal prison. The only currency you have left is cooperation."
Chloe’s hands trembled. She looked at Kellerman, who gave her a grim, almost imperceptible nod. The defense was dead on arrival.
"It wasn't just me," Chloe whispered, her voice cracking, the facade finally crumbling into dust. "I didn't have the administrative clearance to bypass the internal audits. I was just the courier. The signatures... I was directed."
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"Directed by whom?" Vance asked, picking up his pen.
Chloe closed her eyes, a single tear cutting a track through the dirt on her cheek. "Arthur Vance. The Chief Financial Officer. He orchestrated the whole thing."
