Chapter 2 - The Interrogation Room and the Crack in the Armor
The interrogation room at the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Department smelled of stale black coffee, cheap disinfectant, and the quiet despair of everyone who had ever sat in the bolted metal chair.
Brenda Bennett sat slumped under the harsh glare of a single overhead bowl light. She wore an orange county jumpsuit that swallowed her small frame, her blonde hair unwashed and tangled around her shoulders. Gone was the arrogant, tequila-fueled swagger she had displayed on the lawn in Lakewood just twelve hours earlier. The defiance had evaporated, replaced by a twitchy, panicky desperation as she stared at the two-way mirror across the table.
The heavy steel door swung open. Preston Hayes walked in.
He was not wearing his judge’s robes. He wore a crisp black suit, his tie knotted tightly, his sleeves rolled up slightly to reveal strong forearms. He didn't carry a clipboard or a pen. He simply pulled out the metal chair opposite Brenda, sat down with deliberate slowness, and placed both hands flat on the scratched wooden table.
Brenda flinched, pulling her arms tightly across her chest. “What are you doing in here? Where’s my lawyer? You can't be in here—you’re a judge! You have a conflict of interest!”
Preston didn't blink. He stared at her with eyes that looked like frozen steel.
“You tried to kill my child, Brenda,” Preston said. His voice was dangerously quiet, lacking any trace of heat, which made it infinitely more terrifying than a shout.
“I didn't try to kill anyone!” Brenda snapped defensively, though her voice cracked on the high note. “It was a family argument! She came to Mom’s party acting all high and mighty, showing off her diamond ring, rubbing her belly in everyone’s faces like she was queen of the world! It just... it just got out of hand! It was a heat-of-the-moment thing!”
Preston reached into his inside coat pocket, pulled out a thick manila folder, and dropped it onto the table with a heavy thud. He flipped it open, revealing printed bank statements, wire transfer receipts bearing Swiss routing numbers, and high-resolution still images of Brenda meeting a man in a black sedan three days before the party.
Brenda stared at the photographs, her breath catching in her throat. The color drained entirely from her face.
“Fifteen thousand dollars wired from a shell company called Apex Horizon LLC,” Preston recited smoothly, sliding the bank statement across the table. “An entity wholly owned by offshore subsidiaries tied to Richard Sterling. Registered address in the Cayman Islands. The same Richard Sterling whose corporate empire I dismantled in federal court last month.”
Brenda swallowed hard, her tongue darting out to wet her dry lips. “I... I don't know any Richard Sterling. I swear to God, Preston, I don't! Some man came up to me at the coffee shop downtown. He said he was an investor. He said... he said he wanted to help me start a clothing boutique. He gave me the money to help me get on my feet!”
“And in exchange for a boutique, you agreed to drive the heel of your shoe into a six-month pregnant woman’s stomach?” Preston leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, invading her space until she was forced to lean back against the concrete wall. “You didn't just accept money, Brenda. You memorized the medical timeline. You knew exactly where Audrey was vulnerable. You were told to make it look like a drunken sisterly spat so the authorities would write it off as domestic negligence instead of premeditated attempted murder.”
“No... no, that’s not true!” Brenda began to cry, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, smearing her mascara. “He just said... he said you needed to be taught a lesson! He said you stole everything from his family, and he wanted you to feel what it’s like to lose something you love! He said nobody would ever suspect a family feud!”
“Who was the man?” Preston demanded, his voice finally rising, cracking the concrete-like composure he had maintained. The sheer fury radiating from him made the metal chair vibrate. “Give me his name, Brenda. Give me a name right now, or I swear to Almighty God, I will personally sign every enhancement motion the U.S. Attorney’s office files against you, and you will spend the next forty years of your life in a maximum-security penitentiary where you won't even see the sun!”
“I don't know his name!” Brenda shrieked, covering her face with her orange-sleeved hands. “He wore a baseball cap! He called himself ‘Leo’! He paid me in cash installments and wire transfers! He told me if I backed out, he’d expose the embezzlement I did at my old job! I had no choice, Preston! I had no choice!”
The door opened behind Preston. Detective Vance stepped into the room, holding a tablet. He leaned down and whispered into Preston’s ear.
“Judge, our cyber unit just traced the burner phone number Brenda used to communicate with ‘Leo.’ The signal just pinged off a cell tower in downtown Denver. Federal marshals are moving in on the location right now.”
Preston stood up slowly, looking down at the trembling wreck of his sister-in-law with absolute contempt.
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“You traded your own niece’s life for fifteen thousand dollars and the empty promise of a boutique,” Preston said, his voice flat with disgust. “You aren't a victim, Brenda. You’re a mercenary without a soul. Enjoy your orange jumpsuit. You’re going to be wearing it for a very, very long time.”
He turned and walked out of the room, leaving Brenda sobbing hysterically against the cold metal table.
