Chapter 3 - The Interrogation at Maple Street
The autumn air hit Olivia like a slap as she stepped out of the warm SUV. The rain had softened to a mist, coating her wool coat in tiny beads of moisture.
She adjusted her bag over her shoulder, forcing her gait to remain steady, matching the slow, familiar rhythm of a woman returning home from an early shift. Her heart was beating so hard against her ribs she felt sick, but she kept her eyes fixed on the pavement ahead.
Fifty yards.
The yellow brick house at 412 Maple stood behind a low overgrown hedge. In the driveway sat the gray Ford van, its body rusted around the wheel wells.
Thirty yards.
Through her earpiece, she could hear the faint, steady static of Matteo’s private channel, followed by his low whisper: "Clear... clear... keep moving, Olivia."
As she passed the driveway, her eyes darted sideways.
The gray van was empty. But through the small, high window of the bungalow’s basement, a dim yellow light was flickering.
Olivia stopped for a fraction of a second, noticing something else near the side door of the house.
The heavy wooden storm door was propped open with a brick. On the brass handle of the inner door, a tiny strip of silver duct tape had been applied over the latch, preventing it from clicking shut.
It was the same kind of subtle, functional manipulation she had noticed on the vent grilles in Guest Room 7.
She tapped her earpiece twice.
"Got it," Matteo’s voice snapped through the line. "Bravo team, move!"
Before Olivia could step back, the side door of the house flew open.
Arthur Vance burst out onto the concrete steps, carrying a heavy silver aluminum briefcase. He wasn't wearing a coat, his shirt was torn at the collar, and his face was wild with panic. He had heard the subtle approach of the security teams closing the alley.
He saw Olivia standing at the foot of the driveway.
His eyes locked on her housemaid uniform coat, then on the earpiece in her right ear.
"You!" Vance spat, reaching into his waistband.
Olivia didn't scream. She threw her heavy leather purse directly at his face.
The heavy bag struck Vance across the bridge of his nose, sending him stumbling backward down the concrete steps. The aluminum briefcase flew from his grip, hitting the wet driveway with a loud metallic crash and springing open.
Dozens of dark blue computer hard drives, bundle wires, and encrypted storage units spilled out across the wet asphalt, rolling into the puddles.
Before Vance could recover his balance, a shadow descended upon him.
Gabriel Duca moved with a terrifying, explosive speed that Olivia had not anticipated from a man in a tailored suit. He caught Vance by the throat, slamming him sideways against the steel side of the gray van with a force that rattled the vehicle on its tires.
Vance gasped, his legs kicking wildly, but Gabriel’s left hand pinned him against the metal like an iron clamp.
Matteo and three armed security officers swarmed the driveway, their weapons drawn, securing the street corners in less than five seconds. Neighbors' windows remained dark; the entire operation was executed with surgical, terrifying silence.
"Gabriel!" Matteo warned, watching the street. "In the house! Now!"
Gabriel didn't release Vance’s throat. He dragged the struggling technician up the concrete steps, kicking open the side door and hauling him into the small, wood-paneled kitchen of the bungalow.
Teresa grabbed Olivia by the arm, guiding her quickly inside behind them and locking the door.
The house smelled of old lavender, pine cleaner, and damp basement air.
Gabriel shoved Vance into a heavy wooden kitchen chair. Before the technician could slide off, Gabriel pulled a heavy hunting knife from Matteo’s belt sheath and drove the point six inches deep into the oak kitchen table between Vance’s spread fingers.
The blade vibrated with a sharp ping.
Vance froze, his chest heaving, blood trickling from his nose where Olivia’s purse had struck him.
"Look at me," Gabriel said. His voice was quiet, almost conversational, which made it infinitely more terrifying than if he had been shouting.
Vance looked up, trembling violently. "I don't know who you are! I’m just an electrician! I was fixing my mother’s heating!"
"Your mother’s heating doesn't require military-grade piezoelectric pickups," Gabriel said. He leaned down, placing both hands on the arms of Vance’s chair, trapping him in place. "Thirteen months ago, you installed six listening devices in my estate. You were paid $180,000 into a offshore account in Nassau."
Vance’s eyes darted toward the door, where Matteo was rapidly scanning the spilled contents of the briefcase brought inside by Teresa.
"I didn't know what they were for!" Vance whimpered. "A guy met me at a bar in Rosemont! He gave me the blueprints for your house! He said it was for a divorce lawyer who wanted dirt on a wealthy husband! That’s all! I swear to God!"
Gabriel reached down, caught the hilt of the knife, and slowly leaned his weight onto it, tilting the blade until the steel pressed against the side of Vance’s neck.
"The man who died because of those tapes was my brother," Gabriel whispered. "His name was Julian. Do you think I care about a divorce lawyer?"
Vance let out a terrified, strangled gasp. "Wait! Wait! I have the access codes! I kept the master routing logs! The guy who hired me thought I wiped my drive after the install, but I kept a back-up! In case he tried to screw me on the final payment!"
Matteo held up a dark gray drive with a red data port. "He’s telling the truth, Gabriel. This is a local mirror drive. It contains every raw audio packet routed through Guest Room 7 for the last year."
Gabriel didn't move the knife. "Who was the contact in Rosemont?"
"I don't know his real name!" Vance sobbed. "He called himself 'The Broker.' But he didn't pay me in cash! He paid me through a corporate account registered to a firm downtown!"
"What firm?" Gabriel demanded.
Vance swallowed hard against the cold steel against his skin. "Apex Holdings! Apex International! On Michigan Avenue!"
Olivia, standing near the kitchen counter, gasped softly.
May you like
Gabriel turned his head slightly, his dark eyes fixing on her. "You know that name?"
Olivia looked at the cold kitchen floor, her hands clasped tightly together. "Apex Holdings is the primary investment firm that managed Julian Duca’s personal estate after his death. My late husband... he worked for them four years ago as a senior compliance officer before he died."
