Chapter 3 - The Interrogation of Beatrice Sterling
At zero-eight-hundred hours the following morning, I stepped into Interrogation Room B at the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s regional field office. I had swapped my field gear for my Class-A service uniform, the silver eagles of a Senior Defense Intelligence Commander gleaming on my shoulders. Sitting across the stainless-steel table was my mother, Beatrice, wearing an orange jumpsuit that stripped away every ounce of her country-club arrogance.
She looked up as the heavy steel door slammed shut, her eyes bloodshot from a sleepless night in a holding cell. "Morgan! Thank God. Tell these brutes to release me immediately. I demand to speak to my personal attorney. My wrists are bruised from those ridiculous handcuffs."
I pulled out a metal chair and sat down slowly, placing a thick manila folder onto the center of the table. I didn't say a word for nearly a full minute, just staring into the face of the woman who had birthed me, searching for any trace of human empathy. I found none.
"Your attorney, Mr. Vance, was arrested forty-five minutes ago by federal agents," I said calmly. "He was caught trying to shred your joint bank statements and a forged power of attorney document at his downtown law firm."
Beatrice’s face visibly paled, her jaw dropping slightly. "That... that is an outrage. We had legal authority over Arthur! His mind was completely gone! We were providing necessary custodial care!"
"Custodial care?" I opened the manila folder and slid a dozen high-resolution photographs across the table. They showed the rotting interior of the shed, the plastic bowl of stagnant water, the padlock, and close-up medical shots of Grandfather’s pressure sores and emaciated frame. "This is torture, Beatrice. You kept a decorated Korean War veteran and the patriarch of this family locked in a freezing shed like a rabid dog while you spent his retirement savings on designer dresses and wine."
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"He was ruining our lives!" she screamed, slapping her hands against the metal table. "He was going to donate the entire Sterling estate to a veterans' charity! He was leaving us with nothing after we spent decades putting up with his stubborn, arrogant rules! We deserved that money!"
"You just confessed to financial motive and premeditated elder abuse on a federally recorded video feed," I pointed out coldly, gesturing to the camera lens in the corner of the ceiling. "Enjoy your stay in federal custody, mother."
