Chapter 6 - The Interrogation Room
By 2:00 PM that afternoon, my family was in a state of advanced, clinical psychological disintegration.
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Darcy had been summoned urgently to my parents' house by a frantic phone call from Mom, arriving with her two children still in tow, only to be immediately screamed at by both of her parents for ruining their pristine social standing and inviting the federal penitentiary into their suburban living room.
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They were sitting in the living room in total disarray when Marcus stepped out of a sleek black sedan parked at the curb, adjusting his expensive silk tie and striding up the front walkway with the absolute, terrifying confidence of a man who spent his life destroying white-collar criminals.
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He wore a tailored charcoal suit, carried a heavy leather briefcase embossed with gold lettering, and wore wire-rimmed glasses that caught the winter sunlight.
Marcus pressed the front doorbell with a single, firm jab.
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Inside, my father scrambled over a coffee table to yank the front door open, his face pale, his hair disheveled, looking ten years older than he had two days ago.
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"In-investigator Sterling?" Dad stammered, practically hyperventilating. "Thank God you're here... please, come inside, let's talk about this rationally, there's been a massive misunderstanding—".
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Marcus stepped past my father without invitation, his cold eyes sweeping over the living room, where Mom was dabbing her eyes with a shredded tissue and Darcy was sitting rigidly on the couch, clutching her phone like a lifeline.
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"Arthur Blair, Martha Blair, and Darcy Miller," Marcus announced, his deep baritone echoing off the vaulted ceilings with theatrical perfection. "I am Special Investigator Sterling representing the State Financial Compliance and Fraud Directorate. I am here regarding the unauthorized appropriation, fraudulent endorsement, and subsequent digital laundering of thirty-four thousand dollars originating from a commercial payroll disbursement issued to Iris Blair on December nineteenth."
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"Look!" Darcy shrieked, jumping to her feet, her voice cracking with hysteria. "Iris is blowing this completely out of proportion! We're her family! She didn't need that money as much as I did! I have two children to support through the holidays! It was just a family loan!".
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Marcus turned slowly, fixing Darcy with a look of withering, aristocratic contempt that would have won him an Academy Award.
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"Mrs. Miller," Marcus said softly, stepping closer to her until she instinctively shrank back against the sofa cushions. "In the eyes of the California penal system, a 'family loan' executed via a crudely forged signature on a stolen commercial check is not a domestic misunderstanding. It is grand larceny in the second degree, coupled with criminal forgery and wire fraud."
Mom let out a muffled sob and buried her face in a decorative throw pillow.
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"How much time... how much prison time does that carry?" Dad whispered, gripping the back of an armchair for physical support.
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Marcus paused, letting the heavy, suffocating silence stretch out for five agonizing seconds—a classic theatrical beat designed to maximize psychological impact.
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"Depending on whether the District Attorney decides to press charges for systemic financial conspiracy across multiple banking institutions," Marcus said smoothly, consulting a blank notepad inside his briefcase, "we are looking at a minimum mandatory sentence of three to five years in a state correctional facility for the primary forger, and accessory charges carrying up to two years for any cooperating parties who knowingly harbored the stolen capital."
Darcy went completely white. Her jaw slackened, and her phone slipped from her fingers, clattering loudly against the hardwood floor.
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"Three... three to five years?" she gasped, her voice barely audible. "In... in prison? With... with real criminals?".
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"Indeed," Marcus replied coolly. "Unless, of course, full, unconditioned restitution of the exact sum—thirty-four thousand, zero dollars—is returned in certified liquid funds to the rightful account holder within the next twenty-four hours, accompanied by a signed, notarized affidavit confessing to unauthorized endorsement."
"We'll do it!" Dad shouted instantly, waving his hands frantically in the air. "We'll pay it back today! Right now! Just don't file those papers with the District Attorney!".
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Marcus closed his leather briefcase with a satisfying, metallic snap.
"You have until exactly 9:00 AM tomorrow morning, Mr. Blair," Marcus said, turning sharply toward the front door. "Tick-tock."
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He stepped outside, closed the front door behind him, and walked back to his sedan, maintaining character until he rounded the corner out of sight, where he immediately pulled out his phone and texted us all: “Magnificent execution. Act Two is officially a smash hit.”.
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