Chapter 6 - The Interrogation
By 7:30 PM, the rain had returned, sweeping across the dark waters of Lake Michigan in heavy, violent sheets.
Inside the windowless concrete basement of Warehouse Four on the South Side, Thomas Miller was tied securely to a heavy iron chair beneath a single dangling lightbulb.
He was twenty-eight years old, shivering violently, his face wet with sweat and tears. His nose was bleeding, his tactical security uniform stripped away, leaving him in a gray undershirt and bruised trousers.
Dominic Vance stood beside him, holding a heavy leather roll of industrial tools.
I stepped out of the shadows, my leather shoes clicking softly against the damp concrete floor. Daniel Russo stood behind me, holding a black folder containing Miller's financial records.
Miller looked up, his eyes widening in absolute terror as he recognized me. "Mr. Moretti... please! Please, boss, I didn't know! I swear to God I didn't know what they were going to do!"
I walked over, pulling up a wooden folding chair, and sat down three feet in front of him. I leaned forward, resting my hands on my knees.
"You served in my security detail for three years, Thomas," I said smoothly. "I paid for your sister’s kidney transplant in Miami two years ago. I gave you a salary that allowed you to buy a house in Naperville."
"I know... I'm sorry, boss! I'm so sorry!" Miller sobbed, shaking against his ropes. "They threatened my family! Kane’s men... they came to my house last Tuesday! They showed me photos of my sister walking her dog! They said if I didn't unlock the east wing terrace door, they'd kill her!"
"Lie," Daniel said dryly from behind me, opening the black folder. "Your bank account received a wire transfer of $250,000 from a offshore account in Macao thirty minutes before you unlocked that door, Thomas. You weren't threatened. You were bought."
Miller’s mouth snapped shut. He swallowed hard, his skin turning a sickly shade of yellow under the yellow lightbulb.
"Who was the man who entered the house?" I asked calmly.
Miller shook his head frantically. "I don't know his real name! They called him 'The Barber'! He’s a professional liquidator from Detroit! Kane hired him through a broker in Toronto!"
"Where is The Barber now?"
"He... he’s at the Drake Hotel downtown," Miller stammered, tears running down his cheeks. "Room 714. He’s waiting for Kane to confirm that Claire Bennett is dead before he takes his payment and leaves town!"
I stood up, adjusting the cuffs of my suit jacket.
"Did Kane tell you what was supposed to happen to the little girl if she woke up?" I asked softly.
Miller dropped his head, unable to meet my eyes. "Kane... Kane said if the kid was in the room... to make it look like an accidental carbon monoxide leak. Both of them. Mother and daughter."
A heavy, suffocating silence descended upon the concrete cellar.
Dominic took a step forward, his knuckles turning white around a heavy steel wrench.
"Daniel," I said quietly, turning my back on Miller.
"Yes, Mr. Moretti?"
"Call the District Attorney. Tell him we have a primary witness in an attempted murder and treason investigation ready for turnover. Tell him if he wants the arrest warrant for Victor Kane, he needs to have six federal marshals meeting us at Citadel Tower at 10:00 PM."
"And Miller, boss?" Daniel asked.
"Hand him over to the federal authorities," I said coldly. "Let him spend the next twenty-five years sitting in a federal penitentiary thinking about how much $250,000 is worth."
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"No! Mr. Moretti, please!" Miller screamed as Dominic grabbed him by the hair, dragging his chair back toward the wall. "Don't leave me with the feds! Kane will have me killed in prison!"
"Then you better start praying they put you in protective custody," I said without looking back as I walked up the concrete stairs into the rainy night.
