Chapter 9 - The Interrogation of Julian Sterling
At the Federal Building in downtown Philadelphia, the air inside Interrogation Room B was thick with the smell of stale coffee and industrial disinfectant.
Julian Sterling sat at the metal table, his hands cuffed to a heavy steel ring anchored in the center of the wood. His white shirt was rumpled, stained with dried blood around the collar, and his left eye was swollen half-shut from Arthur’s punch. His polished demeanor had thoroughly shattered.
Across the table sat Special Agent Marcus Vance—no relation to Arthur, but a veteran investigator whose tenacity was legendary within the Bureau. Beside him was a thick stack of printed financial ledgers and photographic evidence.
"Let's go over it one more time, Mr. Sterling," Agent Vance said, leaning forward and tapping a thick pencil against the table. "You claim that an unauthorized paramilitary group breached your secured residence, physically assaulted you, and stole three server racks containing corporate data."
"Yes!" Julian yelled, his voice cracking with exhaustion and frustration. "I told you! It was Arthur Vance! He broke through my front doors! He punched me! He took my wife!"
Agent Vance picked up a set of glossy eight-by-ten photographs from the folder and slid them across the table.
"These are the photographs taken by the State Police forensics team who surveyed your grand foyer two hours ago," Agent Vance said calmly.
Julian grabbed the photos with his cuffed hands, his eyes darting frantically across the images.
The photos showed an immaculate, undamaged front entrance. The heavy mahogany double doors were perfectly intact, showing no signs of forced entry, broken latches, or splintered wood. The marble floor was polished to a mirror shine, completely free of blood or chemical residue.
"This... this is impossible!" Julian stammered, his fingers trembling against the paper. "They replaced the doors! They cleaned the floor! You have to check the perimeter! Check the tire tracks on the driveway!"
"We did," Agent Vance replied coldly. "The driveway was pristine. No tire tracks. No broken gates. In fact, the only blood found on the entire property was on a hand towel in your master bathroom, matching your own DNA."
"They wiped it!" Julian screamed, slamming his cuffed hands against the table. The metal ring clattered loudly. "They have ghost technology! They jammed your signals!"
Agent Vance sighed, leaning back in his chair and shaking his head with profound pity. "Mr. Sterling, do you realize how insane you sound? You're asking a federal court to believe that a retired security consultant operates a private army capable of altering reality in broad daylight."
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"It's not an alteration of reality! It's what happened!"
"What happened," Agent Vance interrupted, his voice dropping into an icy, authoritative tone, "is that your wife left you six hours ago after enduring years of systemic domestic torture. And before she left, she handed us the master decryption keys to your illegal offshore accounts."
