Chapter 3 - The Interrogation Room
The sterile, fluorescent lights of the police precinct buzzed overhead, giving me a massive headache.
A detective named Miller sat across from me, sliding a lukewarm cup of coffee across the metal table.
"You saved David Thorne's life today," Miller said, clasping his hands together.
"Who is David Thorne?" I asked, wrapping my cold fingers around the styrofoam cup.
"He's a forensic accountant who went missing three weeks ago," the detective explained, watching my reaction closely.
My stomach churned as I tried to connect a missing accountant to my perfectly ordinary, boring parents.
"Your parents, Linda and Mark, aren't just selling real estate," Miller continued, leaning in.
"They've been laundering millions of dollars for a very dangerous cartel operating out of the Midwest."
I let out a breathless, broken laugh, entirely unable to process the absurdity of his words.
"My mom knits sweaters for rescue dogs, and my dad complains about his golf swing," I argued, desperately clinging to reality.
Miller pulled out a file and tossed several photographs onto the table.
They showed my parents meeting with heavily tattooed men in dark alleys, exchanging thick briefcases.
"Thorne caught them, and he was building a case to hand over to the FBI," Miller said grimly.
"They couldn't kill him without drawing the feds, so they kept him alive to extract his passwords and destroy his evidence."
I stared at the photos, realizing that the people who raised me were ruthless criminals.
"Where is the evidence now?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
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"That's the problem," Miller sighed, rubbing his temples.
"Your parents won't talk, and Thorne says the flash drive is hidden somewhere inside your house."
