Chapter 2 - The Interrogation Room
Claire stared at the man in utter disbelief, her mind stalling against the absurdity of his words.
“What?” she choked out, a bitter burst of laughter escaping her lips before she could stop it. “Are you insane? I didn't throw him in! I just pulled him out of that freezing water!”
The man didn't blink. He raised one hand slightly, and the burly man with the jaw scar immediately stepped forward, draping a warm cashmere blanket around Ethan’s shoulders and gently lifting the boy into his arms.
“Take him to Dr. Vance in the second vehicle,” Roman ordered, never breaking eye contact with Claire. “Have him evaluated immediately.”
“Dad, no! She helped me!” Ethan cried out, reaching a small hand toward Claire as he was carried away. “Dad!”
“Get him inside,” Roman repeated, his tone leaving zero room for argument.
The SUV door slammed shut, cutting off the boy's cries.
Claire took a step back, her bare feet numb against the frozen concrete, her lungs burning as the sheer adrenaline of the rescue began to fade, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion. “Listen to me, mister. I am an ER nurse at Lakeview General. I was walking home from my shift when I heard him splash into the river. I jumped in to save his life. If I hadn't been here, your son would be dead at the bottom of the lock right now.”
Roman took a slow step toward her. The air around him felt dense, heavy with a dangerous, unspoken threat.
“Ten minutes ago,” Roman said, his voice terrifyingly quiet, “my security team received an anonymous call claiming that Ethan had been snatched from his escort at the plaza above. Five minutes ago, my men found his bodyguard unconscious in an alley with a fractured skull. And two minutes ago, I arrived here to find you standing over my son in a dark, restricted alleyway.”
Claire’s heart dropped into her stomach. “I don't care what your security team found! I had nothing to do with any of that! Check the cameras! Call the police!”
“I don't call the police, Miss...?”
“Bennett,” she snapped, shivering so violently her words clipped together. “Claire Bennett. And you need to take your hands off me before I scream.”
Roman didn't touch her. He simply looked at the two armed men standing beside him.
“Put her in the third car,” he commanded calmly, turning his back on her as he walked toward his SUV.
“Wait! You can't do this! This is kidnapping!” Claire yelled, trying to dodge past the nearest guard.
Before she could take two steps, a heavy black-gloved hand seized her upper arm, pinning her firmly but efficiently. Another guard opened the door of the rear SUV.
“Please, ma'am. Don't make this difficult,” the guard said, his voice surprisingly polite despite the iron grip on her shoulder.
Within ten seconds, Claire was shoved into the back of a luxury leather interior. The doors slammed shut, locking with a sharp, pneumatic click that sounded like a vault sealing shut.
Thirty minutes later, the convoy pulled through a heavy steel security gate on the outskirts of the industrial district, entering an unmarked, fortress-like brick compound surrounded by ten-foot concrete walls and topped with razor wire.
Claire was escorted through a private subterranean garage, up a carpeted service elevator, and into an elegant, windowless office lined with dark mahogany paneling and expensive modern art. A glass water carafe sat on a massive marble desk, alongside a row of security monitors displaying dozens of camera angles across the city.
The guards sat her in a high-backed leather chair. A warm, dry blanket was draped over her shoulders, and a hot cup of tea was placed on the table beside her, though two silent men remained stationed by the heavy oak door, their arms crossed over their chests.
Ten minutes later, the door opened.
Roman Mercer walked in. He had removed his wet overcoat and was now wearing a dark grey suit jacket with a crisp white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar. He looked immaculate, composed, and utterly lethally dangerous.
He walked behind his desk, but he didn't sit down. Instead, he leaned his hips against the marble edge, holding a tablet computer in his hand.
“Your name is Claire Elizabeth Bennett,” Roman began, his dark eyes reading off the screen. “Twenty-eight years old. Registered nurse in the emergency department at Lakeview General. Born in Springfield, moved to Chicago six years ago. No criminal record. Outstanding debt of ninety-four thousand dollars in federal student loans. You live at 1412 North Damen Avenue, Apartment 3B.”
Claire felt a cold shiver that had nothing to do with the river. “How did you get all that so fast?”
“I have resources,” Roman replied flatly. He set the tablet down on the marble desk. “Your story checks out, Miss Bennett. You missed your usual train at 6:15 PM due to an equipment failure at the station. You entered the river walk access stairs at 6:32 PM. The timeline matches.”
Claire let out a long, ragged exhale, sinking back into the leather chair. “Thank God. So you know I’m telling the truth. Can I go home now? My cat hasn't been fed, and I’m freezing.”
Roman did not move. He looked at her with an expression that was entirely unreadable.
“You are telling your truth, Miss Bennett,” Roman said softly. “You jumped into the river to pull my son out. For that, you have my gratitude.”
“Then why am I still sitting in this room?” she demanded, rising slightly from her chair.
“Because,” Roman said, clicking a button on his remote control, causing the large wall monitor behind him to light up, “you didn't see what happened five seconds before you arrived at the railing.”
The screen displayed high-definition, black-and-white security footage overlooking the river walk.
Claire leaned forward, staring at the screen.
On the video, little Ethan was walking three paces behind a tall man in a dark trench coat. Suddenly, a woman wearing a heavy red winter parka stepped out from behind a concrete pillar. The woman struck the tall bodyguard in the side of the neck with a dark object. The man collapsed instantly to the pavement.
The woman then grabbed Ethan by his wrist, dragging him toward the edge of the embankment. Ethan struggled frantically, kicking and biting her hand.
Then, the woman pushed the boy over the railing into the churning black water below.
Claire gasped, covering her mouth with her trembling hand. “Oh, my God...”
“The woman who pushed my son,” Roman said, his voice dropping into a register so dark it made the hair on Claire’s arms stand up, “was wearing a red parka, dark jeans, and a dark knit cap.”
Roman paused, tapping the screen.
The camera zoomed in on the woman’s face as she turned to flee down the dark alleyway, disappearing into the shadows seconds before Claire’s figure appeared on the frame, throwing off her coat and jumping into the water.
“Look at her coat, Miss Bennett,” Roman said quietly.
Claire looked closer at the high-definition freeze-frame.
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The red parka worn by the attacker had a silver reflective stripe across the left shoulder, a torn hood lining, and a distinct black logo on the left breast pocket.
It was the exact same hospital-issue winter parka that Claire had left hanging on the coat rack in the Lakeview General nurses' breakroom three hours ago.
