Chapter 3 - The Interrogation in the Suite
The executive boardroom on the hotel’s top floor smelled of expensive leather, cold coffee, and impending ruin.
Around the long mahogany table sat four members of the foundation’s board of directors, Arthur Vance, two grim-faced state investigators in charcoal suits, and Marcus Thorne, who sat near the head of the table like a prosecutor ready for a closing argument.
Dominic stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering Chicago skyline, his back to the room. His hands were clasped behind him, his broad shoulders motionless.
Claire sat in the center chair, her spine straight, the ivory fabric of her dress pulling tight across her back.
“The evidence is conclusive, Mr. Caruso,” one of the state investigators said, sliding a thick file across the table. “Digital forensics confirm the transactions originated from Miss Mercer’s residential IP address using her biometric security key. Furthermore, bank records show a matching pattern of lifestyle inflation—new designer clothes, expensive apartment upgrades, hidden assets.”
“That’s a complete fabrication!” Claire interrupted, her voice sharp and ringing in the quiet room. “I live in a one-bedroom walk-up in Lincoln Park! I haven’t bought a new dress in six months except for this one tonight! Look at my actual bank statements! I have nothing to hide!”
“Then you won’t object to a full seizure warrant of your personal computer, your phone, and your apartment?” Marcus Thorne interjected smoothly, leaning forward with a predatory grin. “Because a warrant is already being drafted. By tomorrow morning, the press will have the story: Trusted Assistant Embezzles Millions from Sick Children. Good luck recovering your reputation after that.”
Claire felt a cold tear slip down her cheek, but she refused to let them break her. She looked across the room at Dominic’s broad back, waiting for him to speak, waiting for the man who knew her work ethic, her integrity, and her soul to slam his fist on the table and throw these vultures out of the building.
He didn’t move.
“Dominic,” Claire whispered, her voice cracking for the first time. “You know me. You know I didn’t do this.”
Dominic slowly turned around. His face was a mask of cold, impenetrable stone. The scar near his eyebrow seemed sharper under the harsh fluorescent lights of the boardroom.
He walked slowly toward the table, his heavy footsteps echoing in the silence. He stopped right beside Claire’s chair, looking down at her.
“Miss Mercer,” Dominic said formally, using her last name as if they were strangers meeting in a courtroom. “You realize the gravity of these charges?”
“You’re actually listening to them?” Claire stared up at him, betrayal burning hotter than fear. “You think I stole from the children?”
Marcus Thorne chuckled softly. “Come on, Dominic. Don’t let sentimentality blind you. The girl got greedy. It happens to the best of—’
Bang.
Dominic’s palm slammed flat against the polished mahogany table, the explosive sound making every man in the room jump in their seats. The investigators flinched. Thorne swallowed hard, his smile vanishing instantly.
“Shut your mouth, Marcus,” Dominic said, his voice dropping into that terrifying, quiet register that made hardened criminals lock their doors at night.
Dominic turned his gaze back to the state investigators. “You claim the transfer was executed using Miss Mercer’s biometric key from her residential IP address at 2:14 AM last Tuesday?”
“Yes, Mr. Caruso,” the lead investigator stammered slightly. “The server logs are indisputable.”
“And you assume she was sitting at her home terminal executing the transaction herself?” Dominic asked, his eyes narrowing.
“Naturally. Who else would have her security token?” Thorne sneered.
Dominic didn’t look at Thorne. He looked straight at Claire, his gray eyes searching her face with an intensity that burned right through her defenses.
“Claire,” Dominic said, his voice softening just a fraction. “Where were you last Tuesday at 2:14 in the morning?”
Claire blinked, trying to trace back her memories through the exhausting fog of tax-season crunch time. “I... I was at the office. We were pulling an all-nighter to finish the Q3 audit reports. You were there too, Dominic. In your corner office.”
Dominic gave a slow, deliberate nod. “Correct. You were at your desk on the seventh floor of Caruso Holdings from 8:00 PM Monday until 9:00 AM Tuesday morning. Your office keycard logs confirm it. The building security cameras confirm it.”
The lead investigator frowned, checking his notes. “If she was at the office... then how could her residential terminal authorize a transfer across town?”
“Because,” Dominic said, turning to face the entire board with a cold, triumphant smile, “someone hacked her home Wi-Fi network and spoofed her digital credentials from an external source. But that isn't even the best part.”
May you like
Dominic placed both hands on the back of Claire’s chair, leaning down slightly so his mouth was close to her ear, though his words rang clear across the silent room.
“Tell them about the dress, Claire.”
