Chapter 3 - The Interrogation Room
The precinct interrogation room smelled of stale sweat and cheap floor wax. Marcus sat at the metal table, his silk tie stripped away, his expensive suit wrinkled. He looked diminished.
When the door opened, he looked up, expecting his high-powered defense attorney. Instead, he saw me.
"Nora!" he gasped, lunging forward before the chain on the table jerked him back. "Nora, thank God. You have to tell them it's a misunderstanding. The money—I can explain the money. And the video... you have to say it was doctored. You have to save me."
I pulled out the metal chair opposite him and sat down, folding my hands neatly on the table. "Why would I do that, Marcus?"
His eyes widened in frantic disbelief. "Because you're my wife! Because without me, you are nothing! You wear my clothes, you live in my house—"
"I built your house," I corrected, my voice deadly quiet. "I built your entire life. I engineered your rise because I thought you were a good man. And when I realized you were a monster, I engineered your fall."
"You..." He stammered, the realization finally sinking in. "You gave them the files. You recorded me."
"You asked me if I knew who you were," I said, leaning closer to him. "But you never bothered to ask yourself who I was. Did you really think an FBI forensic accountant just magically forgets how to read a ledger? Did you think a woman who hunted cartels for a living would just sit quietly while you hit her over a cufflink?"
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Marcus’s face twisted into a snarl of pure rage. "I'll kill you. When I get out of here, I will destroy you."
I stood up, smoothing the front of my coat. "You aren't getting out, Marcus. The only place you're going is a six-by-eight cell. Enjoy the silence. I hear you hate it."
