Chapter 33 - The Devil’s Bargain in the Interrogation Cell
Deep beneath the Federal Courthouse in downtown Seattle, the fluorescent tubes of Interrogation Room 3 buzzed with an unbearable hum.
Diane Vance sat chained to the steel table by both ankles and her uninjured arm. Her right forearm was encased in a thick, surgical splint wrapped in white gauze, blood already beginning to seep through the sterile wraps. Her expensive silk blouse was stained, her hair wild and disheveled, but her eyes—those cold, serpent-like gray eyes—still radiated an arrogant, untouchable malice.
The heavy steel door slammed open. Daniel walked in, flanked by Agent Thorne. Daniel didn't sit down. He slammed both hands onto the cold metal table, leaning forward until his face was inches from Diane’s.
“Where did she take him?” Daniel whispered, his voice trembling with a rage so thick it could be tasted.
Diane didn't flinch. A slow, grotesque smile crept across her thin lips.
“You look terrible, Daniel,” she cooed softly, her tone dripping with venomous mockery. “That shoulder looks like it’s going to get infected. It’s almost a shame my shot was spoiled. Just a few inches to the left, and you wouldn't have to endure what's coming next.”
Daniel grabbed the collar of her blouse with his right hand, hauling her forward until the steel chain snapped taut with a harsh metallic clang.
“Listen to me, you sociopathic bitch,” Daniel snarled through clenched teeth. “Your accounts are frozen. The Swiss funds are seized. Every single politician on your payroll has already issued press releases disavowing you. You are going to die in a concrete box in ADX Florence. But if you tell me where Vanessa took Mason right now, I will personally ask the prosecutor to take the death penalty off the table. Give me my son!”
Diane laughed. It was a raspy, dry cackle that echoed off the soundproofed walls.
“You still think Vanessa is the one running this show?” Diane sneered, tilting her head back, her eyes gleaming with manic triumph. “Vanessa is a broken little doll, Daniel. She only does what she’s programmed to do. Do you really believe this started with a dog collar and an inheritance check?”
Daniel’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
Diane leaned closer, her breath smelling of bile and peppermint. “Mason isn't just an heir to your father’s estate. He is the sole biological trust holder of the Westfall Maritime Syndicate. Emily never told you, did she? Your precious, perfect Emily was running from them long before she met you.”
Daniel felt the air leave his lungs. “Emily was an architect. Her family died in a car crash.”
“Emily’s father owned the deep-water shipping lanes of Puget Sound,” Diane hissed. “And when he died, he put twelve billion dollars in escrow, blind-trusted to his firstborn grandchild. We didn't marry Vanessa to you for your pathetic suburban house, Daniel. We married her to you to get legal custody of that child. And now... Vanessa has taken him to the only man who has more power than the FBI.”
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“Who?” Daniel roared, slamming his fist onto the table so hard the steel rattled. “WHO HAS HIM?”
Diane’s smile widened into a terrifying mask. “Her father. The man who was supposedly buried twenty years ago. Arthur Vance is waiting at Pier 48, Daniel. And the tide is coming in.”
