Chapter 4 - Interrogation in the Basement
Dr. Richard Hale was tied securely to a heavy oak chair in the estate’s windowless basement wine cellar. Rows of vintage Bordeaux bottles stood behind iron mesh racks, silent witnesses to a very different kind of wealth than the blood money upstairs.
Hale’s glasses were gone, leaving his eyes blinking blindly against the harsh glare of a single overhead bulb dangling from a frayed cord. A dark bruise was blooming across his jaw where Viktor’s pistol had connected, and a thin line of dried blood ran from the corner of his mouth down his chin.
Viktor stood directly in front of him, arms crossed over his massive chest. I stood a few paces back, holding a digital tablet displaying Gabriel’s live telemetry and chemical panels.
“Let’s skip the preamble, Doctor,” Viktor said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Who on the board ordered it?”
Hale spat a small clot of blood onto the concrete floor. He chuckled, a wet, rattling sound. “You think killing me—or even torturing me—changes anything, Viktor? The syndicate doesn't run on loyalty anymore. It runs on international shipping routes, crypto-wallets, and offshore accounts. The board voted six to two. Marcus Vance is the new head of the commission. Your own cousin, Viktor.”
Viktor didn't flinch, but a muscle ticked sharply along his jawline. “Marcus.”
“He promised stability,” Hale wheezed, lifting his chin defiantly. “Gabriel was holding onto outdated traditions. He wanted to pull out of the European drug corridors and launder everything through legitimate real estate. That would have cut the board’s profits in half by the end of the fiscal year. We didn't assassinate a boss; we performed corporate restructuring.”
“With a neurotoxin hidden in orthopedic foam,” I added coldly, stepping into the circle of light. “That’s not restructuring, Doctor. That’s cowardice. You didn't have the stomach for a coup, so you turned a medical bed into an execution chamber.”
Hale looked up at me, his eyes narrowed with venom. “And you ruined a multi-million-dollar operation because you couldn't mind your own medical charts, Miss Hayes. You think you’re safe down here? Marcus knows I was checking in tonight. When I don’t call in by three-thirty, a clean-up crew won't send a doctor—they’ll send a mortar team.”
Viktor pulled a heavy silver pocket watch from his vest, clicked the lid open, and checked the time.
“It’s three-twenty-eight,” Viktor said smoothly.
May you like
Before Hale could process the words, the heavy metal security door at the top of the cellar stairs rattled violently, followed by the dull, echoing thud of an explosion shaking the foundation of the estate.
Marcus Vance’s clean-up crew had arrived.
