Chapter 9 - The Interrogation Room
Thirty miles south, in the secure basement holding facility of the Edward A. Garmatz Federal Courthouse in Baltimore, Arthur Sterling was learning what it felt like to be on the receiving end of the justice system he had arrogantly manipulated for a decade.
He sat alone at a stainless-steel table inside Interrogation Room B. His tailored silk suit was wrinkled and stained with dried sweat; his silk tie had been confiscated, along with his shoelaces, belt, and Rolex watch, to comply with federal detention protocols. Under the harsh, buzzing fluorescent lights, he looked small, pathetic, and entirely stripped of his corporate swagger.
The heavy steel door unlocked with a loud, mechanical clank.
Arthur jumped in his metal chair, his handcuffs rattling against the table loop as two men entered the room. The first was Special Agent Marcus Vance, his face a mask of cold, professional detachment. The second man was Richard Sterling—Arthur’s former managing partner—who was carrying a thick leather briefcase.
“Richard!” Arthur gasped, sagging against the table in relief. “Oh, thank God. You’re here to represent me! You brought the bail papers? We need to file an immediate writ of habeas corpus, Richard. These agents are violating my constitutional rights! They’ve held me for fourteen hours without allowing a phone call!”
Richard Sterling did not sit down. He did not open his briefcase to pull out legal briefs. Instead, he stood at the end of the table, looking down at Arthur with an expression of profound, clinical disgust.
“I am not here as your attorney, Arthur,” Richard said coldly. “I am here as the managing partner of Vanguard & Sterling. I am here to serve you with formal notice of your immediate termination from the firm, for cause, under Section 14-B of the partnership agreement involving moral turpitude and criminal misconduct.”
Richard extracted a single, formal sheet of paper from his briefcase and slid it across the stainless-steel table until it rested against Arthur’s handcuffed wrists.
“What?” Arthur stared at the termination paper as if it were written in a foreign language. “You can’t fire me! I brought in the tech accounts! I’m up for managing partner! Richard, this is a domestic misunderstanding! My mother pushed her, not me!”
“Your mother shoved a pregnant woman into a marble counter, and you threw her cell phone against a brick wall to prevent her from calling an ambulance so you could finish eating prime rib with your bosses,” Richard said, his voice dripping with venom. “The FBI extracted the audio from your broken phone, Arthur. The internal microphone was still recording when you told her no ambulance was coming because you didn't want sirens damaging your promotion chances.”
Arthur’s mouth fell open, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead. “No... no, that’s not admissible... the chain of custody—”
May you like
“It is entirely admissible under federal exception guidelines for ongoing violent felonies,” Special Agent Marcus Vance interjected, leaning his knuckles against the table and glaring down into Arthur’s terrified eyes. “And even if it weren't, twenty senior partners from your former firm have already given sworn, videotaped depositions to the FBI this morning. They testified that they heard Elena crying for medical assistance, and they watched you intentionally refuse her aid.”
Richard Sterling zipped his briefcase shut and took a step back toward the door. “We have already turned over your office files, your corporate emails, and your billing records to the Department of Justice to assist in their investigation. You are toxic waste, Arthur. Enjoy federal prison.”
