Chapter 6 - Inside the Interrogation Room
The municipal police precinct’s interrogation room smelled of stale instant coffee, floor wax, and decades of quiet desperation. Under normal circumstances, Ethan Cole, Brandon Hale, and Tyler Whitmore would never have set foot in such a place; their family names alone would have ensured that any local police interaction was settled with a quiet phone call and a polite escort back to their academy dorms.
Those days were gone.
Ethan Cole sat at the metal table, his high-end designer civilian jacket wrinkled, his hands cuffed to a steel loop bolted into the center of the wood. The arrogant smirk that had graced his face during the assault was entirely gone, replaced by wide-eyed, twitchy panic.
The heavy steel door swung open.
A tall man in a dark charcoal overcoat stepped inside, walking with slow, deliberate footsteps. He didn't wear a police badge, nor was he carrying an officer's clipboard. He simply pulled out the metal chair opposite Ethan, sat down, and rested his forearms on the table, staring at the cadet with a gaze so intensely cold that Ethan shrank back against his chair.
"Who... who are you?" Ethan stammered, his voice cracking nervously. "You can't do this! My father is a United States Senator! I demand my lawyer! I demand a phone call!"
Daniel didn't speak immediately. He reached slowly into his coat pocket, pulled out a small, metallic object, and laid it gently on the table: a bloodstained scrap of fabric torn from Lily’s academy sweatshirt, bearing the three names written in shaky ink.
"Your father's phone is currently sitting on the desk of the Department of Justice inspector general," Daniel said softly, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated through the small room. "His campaign manager has already resigned, his bank accounts are frozen pending a federal audit, and his political career was officially cremated about twenty minutes ago."
Ethan swallowed hard, his throat dry as sandpaper. "That... that's impossible. You're lying. You're just a nobody logistics officer—"
"A logistics officer," Daniel repeated, a thin, humorless smile touching the corner of his lips. He leaned forward across the table, his eyes locking onto Ethan’s dilated pupils. "Do you know what logistics officers actually do in deep-theater special operations, Ethan? We don't just move crates. We calculate supply lines, map operational vulnerabilities, and ensure that every single asset required to neutralize a target arrives precisely on schedule."
Ethan’s breath hitched. "You... you're that guy. The one the academy files redacted."
"Last night, three cowards decided that breaking a nineteen-year-old girl’s jaw in six places was a fun way to protect their petty little secrets," Daniel said, his tone remaining terrifyingly calm. "You thought her jaw being wired shut meant she couldn't speak. You thought deleting server files meant the truth would vanish."
"We didn't mean to—we just wanted her to shut up! She saw things she shouldn't have—she was going to report our hazing ring!" Ethan blurted out, panic completely overriding his common sense.
"I know," Daniel said quietly. "And now, every court in this state is going to hear that exact confession played back on high-definition audio."
"Please," Ethan whimpered, tears finally spilling over his eyelids, realizing the absolute magnitude of the trap he had walked into. "Please don't... my dad will give you anything. Money, influence, whatever you want—just make this go away!"
Daniel stood up slowly, straightening his coat. He looked down at Ethan with a mixture of profound pity and absolute disdain.
"Money won't fix your bones, Ethan. And influence won't get you out of a federal maximum-security penitentiary," Daniel said coldly. "When you're sitting in a concrete cell twenty-four hours a day, thinking about what you did to my daughter, I want you to remember one thing."
May you like
He leaned down, whispering directly into the cadet's ear.
"The Ghost Commander doesn't leave loose ends."
