Chapter 6 - The Interrogation and the Intel
Deep within the sub-basement levels of Site 4, far below the residential suites and the tactical matrix, lay the secure holding cells. The air down here was artificially chilled, smelling faintly of ozone and industrial disinfectant. The walls were constructed of three-foot-thick reinforced titanium-alloy composite, designed to withstand a direct tactical airstrike.
Ethan walked down the narrow, harshly lit corridor behind Marcus Vance, his combat boots clicking sharply against the polished concrete. Evelyn flanked his other side, carrying a heavy encrypted drive containing the decrypted data files salvaged from Ryan’s suburban communications hub in Ohio.
“His local burner network was more sophisticated than we initially calculated, Director,” Evelyn reported, her voice echoing down the empty corridor. “Ryan wasn't just a low-level sleeper asset gone rogue. Over the past six months, he was actively communicating with an unverified shell corporation linked directly to Viktor Vance—your uncle.”
Ethan stopped dead in his tracks. The name hung in the cold air like a physical blow.
“Viktor?” Ethan asked, turning his head sharply toward Marcus. “My uncle? I thought you said all my relatives were dead.”
Marcus didn't stop walking, but his shoulders stiffened instantly, his stride hardening into a lethal march. He pushed open a heavy biometric security door, stepping into a brightly lit observation suite overlooking a stark, white interrogation cell.
Through the one-way glass, a man sat handcuffed to a stainless-steel bolt in the center of the floor. It wasn't Ryan. Ryan was locked away in a federal black site thousands of miles away. The man sitting in the chair was wearing an immaculate bespoke Italian suit that looked entirely out of place in a black-site prison: Julian Ross, the primary financial intermediary for the Orion Syndicate in North America, whom tactical teams had snatched off a private tarmac in Washington just three hours ago.
“Viktor Vance is my older brother, Ethan,” Marcus said quietly, his gray eyes fixed on the man through the glass. “Or rather, he was my brother before he sold our family’s security division out to foreign intelligence agencies twenty years ago. When I went dark to protect your mother and hide you in Ohio, Viktor was the one who funded the shadow network hunting us. And Ryan... Ryan was his inside man.”
Ethan felt the floor drop out from beneath him once more. Everything he thought he knew about his life was nothing more than a carefully orchestrated chess match between two warring factions of a broken family dynasty.
“So Ryan wasn't just an abusive husband who went crazy,” Ethan whispered, the pieces finally clicking together in his mind with terrifying clarity. “He was placed in our house by my uncle to find us.”
“Exactly,” Marcus said, turning to Evelyn. “Open the comms feed to the cell. I’m going in.”
“Director, protocol dictates—” Evelyn started to warn.
“Protocol ended the moment Viktor’s assets crossed into our operational perimeter,” Marcus cut her off, his voice absolute. He turned the handle of the heavy steel door and stepped into the interrogation cell.
Ethan pressed his face against the observation glass, holding his breath.
Inside the stark white room, Julian Ross looked up as the heavy door slammed shut. The impeccably tailored financial fixer tried to maintain a cool, corporate veneer, flashing a slick, arrogant smile as Marcus approached the steel table.
“Director Vance,” Ross drawled, crossing his cuffed hands on the table. “I must say, your accommodations leave much to be desired. Do you really think holding me here will stop what’s coming? Viktor knows every frequency this facility operates on. Your mountain is about to become a tomb.”
Marcus didn't raise his voice. He didn't slam his fists on the table. He simply pulled out the opposite steel chair, sat down with agonizing slowness, and leaned forward until his face was inches from Ross’s.
“Viktor is welcome to try,” Marcus said softly, his voice carrying the chilling, weightless calm of an executioner. “But before my brother steps foot anywhere near these mountains, you are going to tell me every single access code, shell account, and offshore asset transfer he used to fund Ryan’s operation in Ohio.”
Ross laughed, a dry, nervous sound. “And if I refuse?”
Marcus didn't blink. He reached down to his tactical belt, unclipped a small, encrypted data pad, and slid it across the table toward Ross. The screen displayed a live, high-resolution satellite feed of a sprawling private island estate in the Mediterranean—complete with security guards, yacht berths, and a private villa.
“That’s your sanctuary in Ibiza, Julian,” Marcus said calmly. “By the time I finish counting to ten, Evelyn will have uploaded a complete orbital strike authorization coordinate to that exact latitude. Your house, your money, your entire criminal empire will be reduced to a smoking crater before you finish your morning espresso.”
Ross’s arrogant smile instantly vanished. The color drained from his face, leaving his skin a sickly, ash-gray shade. His eyes darted from the data pad to Marcus’s unblinking, stone-cold stare.
“You... you wouldn't,” Ross stammered, his voice cracking.
“Try me,” Marcus whispered. “One. Two. Three—”
“Wait! Wait!” Ross shrieked, throwing his hands up, the handcuffs clattering against the metal table. “I’ll give you everything! All the accounts, the offshore ledgers, the encrypted comms frequencies! Just call off the strike!”
From the observation suite, Ethan watched his father sit back in his chair, folding his hands neatly across his chest with absolute, terrifying mastery.
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Evelyn walked up beside Ethan, tapping her datapad as a flood of raw financial data began scrolling across the wall monitors.
“Target compromised. Intel secured,” Evelyn murmured, glancing sideways at Ethan with a respectful nod. “Your father doesn't lose, Ethan. And neither do you. Get ready—because once we decrypt these files, we’re taking the fight straight to your uncle’s doorstep.”
