Chapter 5 - Interrogation Under the Skyline
The abandoned freight warehouse on 4th Street smelled of rusted iron, stagnant river water, and decades of industrial decay.
High overhead, broken skylights allowed pale moonlight to cut through the swirling dust motes, casting long, dramatic shadows across the concrete floor where a single heavy wooden chair sat beneath a dangling halogen work light.
The thug with the jagged facial scar—whose name badge from an expired security license identified him as a disgraced former bouncer named Ray Miller—was strapped tightly to the wooden chair with heavy industrial zip-ties.
His face was pale, sweat dripping from his forehead as he stared up into the impenetrable darkness beyond the reach of the light.
Footsteps echoed across the cavernous floor—slow, measured, and entirely unhurried.
Dante Moretti stepped out of the shadows, walking in his signature charcoal suit with his hands calmly buttoned inside his overcoat.
He didn't yell, he didn't threaten, and he didn't raise his voice even slightly.
He simply walked up to Ray Miller, stopped two feet away, and looked down at him as if inspecting a minor insect crawling across a pristine desk.
"You," Ray spat out defiantly, trying to mask his trembling voice with false bravado. "You can't hold me here. My bosses know where I—"
"Your bosses," Dante interrupted softly, his voice cutting through the damp air like a razor, "are currently wondering why you haven't reported back from a simple basement raid. Which tells me two things: they consider you expendable muscle, and they haven't realized that Marcus secured the ledger."
Ray swallowed hard, his bravado evaporating instantly. "I don't know what ledger you're talking about. We were just hired to shake the girl up—send a warning about corporate trespassing."
Dante tilted his head slightly, signaling to Marcus standing off to the side.
Marcus stepped forward, dropping the black leather ledger onto a rusted metal barrel right beside Ray’s chair with a heavy, definitive thud.
Ray stared at the black leather cover, his eyes widening in sheer terror.
"Arthur Pendelton didn't retire to Zurich," Dante murmured, leaning in close so his face was inches from the captive's sweating brow. "And the men funding Sterling & Cross aren't real estate developers. They’re international asset launderers attempting to use Chicago as a front for municipal takeover."
"I swear on my mother's grave, I didn't know about the laundering!" Ray cried out, thrashing against the heavy zip-ties. "We were just paid ten grand by a middleman to snatch her laptop and leave a message!"
"Who is the middleman?" Dante asked, his voice chillingly calm.
"His name is Victor Vance—no relation to the girl!" Ray blurted out desperately, terrified of the silence stretching between them. "He operates out of the financial district, running security contracts for offshore conglomerates!"
Dante stood up straight, his expression hardening into absolute stone.
Victor Vance.
A former internal investigations director whom Dante had fired three years ago for embezzlement—a man who knew every vulnerability in Moretti Holdings’ operational architecture.
"Marcus," Dante said, turning away from the trembling captive without another glance.
"Boss?"
"Deploy the entire acquisition team. Freeze every asset linked to Victor Vance within the hour."
"And the prisoner?" Marcus asked, glancing down at Ray Miller, who was now shaking uncontrollably.
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Dante paused at the edge of the light, looking back over his shoulder with eyes as cold as the Chicago winter.
"Hand him over to the federal prosecutor handling the financial fraud division," Dante said coldly. "Let’s see how much loyalty Victor Vance has for muscle when federal indictments start landing on his doorstep."
