Chapter 19 #2
“We start with standard interrogation techniques,” Owen continues. “Sleep deprivation, which we’ve already begun. Isolation, which he’s had plenty of. And psychological pressure. He can’t be sure what information we do or don’t have.”
Matteo nods, taking a left onto a less populated street. “We use what we have. The mayor’s resignation. His mother’s betrayal. That the entire city thinks he’s dead.”
My fingers drum against my knee. “And if he doesn’t crack?”
“Then we escalate,” Owen says simply. “But we need to be smart about this, Victor. Not just for our legal protection, but for tactical advantage.”
“Torture is a last resort,” Matteo adds. “Not because we’re squeamish, but because it’s messy and inefficient.”
I stare at them both, irritated by their logic. “Fine. We’ll do it your way. For now.”
Owen picks up his tablet again. “That’s all we’re asking. Save the pliers for round two.”
“What exactly are we trying to get out of him?” Matteo asks, turning onto the highway that leads toward the warehouse district. “We need to prioritize our questions.”
Owen pulls up what looks like a list on his screen.
“First, confirmation that he was behind the attempt on Lili at the hospital, we know he was, but we need to establish a baseline for his truthfulness since I can’t just hook him up to a lie detector.
Second, details on Trinity’s shooting, who pulled the trigger, who else was involved?
Third, his broader network, who else is targeting us, and why? ”
“And Harper?” I ask. “The overdose?”
“We’ll ask,” Owen says. “But we’re confident he’s not connected to that, not directly at least. The timing doesn’t work. He was already secured when it happened.”
“Doesn’t mean he couldn’t have arranged it beforehand,” I argue, though deep down, I agree with Owen’s assessment.
“True,” Matteo concedes. “But Owen’s right about priorities. If we start with Harper, we’re showing our hand too early.”
I settle back in my seat, considering their approach. It’s more measured than mine, more strategic. But it lacks the satisfaction I’m craving.
“Here’s how we play it,” Owen continues. “Matteo goes in first. You’re the reasonable one, the businessman. Establish rapport, let him think you might be open to a deal.”
Matteo nods, eyes still on the road. “I can do that.”
“Then I’ll follow,” Owen says. “The technical one. I show him evidence of what we have on him, make him believe resistance is futile.”
“And me?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
Owen’s lips quirk slightly. “You’re the threat, Victor. The monster he knows is waiting if he doesn’t cooperate with us. You come in last when he’s already rattled.”
“Good cop, smart cop, psycho cop,” Matteo summarizes. “Classic for a reason.”
I hate that it makes sense. Hate that my rage has to be channeled, controlled, used as a tool rather than unleashed. But I nod anyway. “Fine. But if he mentions Lili or Grace...”
“Then we adapt,” Owen says carefully. “Discipline is key, Victor. Don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you lose control.”
The car slows as we approach the industrial district, warehouses rising on either side like concrete monoliths. Ours is at the very end of a dead-end street, unmarked and unremarkable except for the high-end security system Owen installed.
Matteo pulls into a small lot behind an abandoned gas station two parking lots away. Standard procedure. We rarely park at the warehouse.
“I’ve got eyes inside,” Owen says, showing us the feed on his tablet. The grainy night-vision image shows Phineas still zip-tied to a chair in the center of the warehouse floor. His head hangs forward, chin to chest. Sleeping or pretending to.
“He looks so harmless,” Matteo observes. “Hard to believe he’s responsible for so much damage.”
“That’s what makes men like him dangerous,” I say, checking my weapon one last time. “They can blend in. Look normal. Though from what Lili tells me, he’s anything but normal behind closed doors.”
We exit the car, the morning heat already building. The walk to the warehouse is silent, each of us mentally preparing for our roles. Two of our security team wait at the side entrance, nodding as we approach.
“Any movement?” Owen asks.
“Nothing, sir,” one answers. “Been quiet all night. We gave him water at 0400 as instructed.”
“Good.” Owen turns to us. “Ready?”
Matteo straightens his tie, slipping into his professional persona. “Let’s do this.”
I hang back, letting them enter first, playing my role as the threat yet to come.
Through the open door, I catch my first glimpse of Phineas in person since the cabin.
He looks smaller somehow, diminished by captivity.
His expensive clothes are wrinkled and stained, his carefully styled hair now limp and greasy.
But when he lifts his head at the sound of the door, his eyes are clear and alert. Not broken. Not yet.
I step back, out of his line of sight. My time will come.
I watch from the shadows as Matteo circles Phineas, his movements deliberate and unhurried.
The warehouse is cool despite the morning heat outside, concrete floors, high ceilings, and the AC turning on occasionally.
Perfect for keeping a prisoner uncomfortable without risking heatstroke.
Phineas tracks Matteo with his eyes, body language casual despite the zip ties binding his wrists and ankles to the metal chair.
“You look terrible,” Matteo observes, stopping directly in front of Phineas. “Water? Coffee?”
Phineas’s laugh is dry and cracked. “Hospitality now? After two days of nothing but toilet breaks and water?”
“Things can improve,” Matteo says, leaning against a nearby table. “Depends on how this conversation goes.”
“Let me guess. You’re the reasonable one.” Phineas looks past Matteo to where Owen stands near a makeshift workstation. “He’s the bad cop. And I assume your psychopath friend is lurking somewhere nearby, waiting to make both of you seem like the good cops?”
The casual way he dismisses me makes my fingers curl into fists. But I remain still, playing my part. My time will come.
Matteo doesn’t bother denying it. “We want to understand what happened at the attorney’s office. The sniper who shot Trinity Novak was aiming for your ex-wife.”
“Wife,” Phineas corrects smoothly. “And I had nothing to do with that.”
“Bullshit,” Owen says, stepping forward. “We have financials, shell companies, communications. The shooter was paid through one of your offshore accounts.”
Phineas shrugs, the motion awkward with his bound arms. “My accounts get hacked all the time. Occupational hazard in politics.”
“That’s your defense?” Matteo sounds almost disappointed. “Someone hacked your accounts? That’s amateur hour, Phineas.”
“It’s the truth. I was as shocked as anyone when I heard Trinity had been shot. She’s a lovely woman. Always supported my mother’s campaigns.”
Owen taps something on his tablet. “We found traces of drugs in Harper Cantrell’s system. You know anything about that?”
I watch Phineas’s face carefully. His expression doesn’t change, no micro-expressions of recognition or alarm. Either he’s the best liar I’ve ever seen, or he genuinely doesn’t know what Owen’s talking about.
“Harper who?” Phineas asks. “Should I recognize that name?”
Owen exchanges a glance with Matteo. They’ve seen it too. “Never mind. Back to the shooting.”
“Look,” Phineas sighs, shifting in his chair. “I don’t know what game we’re playing here, but I’ve told you I had nothing to do with the shooting. She’s my wife. I would never hurt her. I’m sure whoever pulled the trigger was aiming for Trinity. Hunter has a lot of enemies.”
Matteo studies him. “So, this isn’t about Lili at all even though you kidnapped her?”
Phineas’ face tightens with anger. “As I said, she’s my wife. I didn’t kidnap her. I just brought her home after she made a poor decision.”
“We know you were behind the shooting at the wedding in London. What is all of this about, Mr. Draven? Why is your attention focused on me and my friends?”
A thin smile spreads across Phineas’s face. “You’re asking the wrong questions, Mr. Bennett. The real question is why you think I’m at the center of your problems.”
“Because you are,” Owen counters. “The evidence is clear.”
“Is it? Or are you seeing what you want to see? What they want you to see.” Phineas leans forward as much as his restraints allow. “Maybe someone wants you to think it’s me, and they dragged my wife into it.”
I’ve heard enough. I step out of the shadows, moving into Phineas’s line of sight. His eyes track me, expression unchanged. No fear. That will change.
“You kidnapped her,” I say, voice low. “You held her against her will, and you cut her. Those are facts, not speculation.” I understand the irony of my first two statements since I technically did the same thing.
“Ah, here he is.” Phineas sits back. “The hero of the hour. Tell me, Serrano, does she scream your name when she comes? She was always so tense with me. Could barely get her cunt wet enough to fuck her properly.”
My vision narrows, focusing entirely on his smug face.
“You know nothing about her,” I say, forcing myself to stay in place rather than lunge for his throat.
“I know everything about her.” His voice takes on a different quality, almost intimate. “I know which parts of her body are most sensitive, exactly how much pain she can take before she breaks. And I know that sometimes, when she’s really into it, she sobs and begs me to stop.”
Matteo steps between us, sensing the direction of my thoughts. “This isn’t productive.”
Phineas ignores him, eyes locked on mine. “You think you rescued her? That’s adorable. Liliana stays where she wants to stay. She’s left and come back to me plenty of times before you. She loves the game.”
The menace in his voice has my blood boiling. “She stayed because you threatened her,” I counter, fists clenched so tight my nails dig into my palms. “Because you isolated her from everyone who cared about her.”