Chapter 11 - The Interrogation
Back inside the ruined cabin, Julian was bound tightly to the heavy wooden dining chair, his arms wrenched behind his back and tied with industrial zip-ties. Blood from his split forehead had dried into a crust along his cheek, but his gaze remained fixed and defiant on Hector Ruiz, who sat casually on the edge of the table, cleaning his fingernails with a small folding knife.
""You're remarkably durable, Ross,"" Hector said without looking up. ""Most men would have passed out from the shattered kneecap alone. But here you are, glaring at me like a captured wolf.""
Julian spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor near Hector’s polished leather shoes. ""Save the poetry, Hector. You’re sloppy. Marco was reckless, but you... you left a paper trail a mile wide when you bribed the maritime port authority.""
Hector chuckled softly, folding the knife and slipping it into his pocket. ""Paper trails can be incinerated, Julian. Just like this cabin. Just like you."" Hector leaned in close, his cold breath smelling of peppermint and tobacco. ""What cannot be incinerated is bloodline. Elena’s unborn child is Marco’s legal heir. Under the corporate bylaws my father drafted, guardianship of that child grants complete voting proxy over the entire Vargas-Ruiz shipping infrastructure.""
Julian smiled faintly, despite the agonizing throbbing in his leg. ""You think she'll ever let you near that baby? She knows everything, Hector. She knows Arthur is alive.""
Hector’s smile vanished instantly. His eyes hardened into black flint, the calm aristocrat facade shattering in an instant. He reached out, grabbing Julian by his broken jaw, twisting it viciously until Julian groaned in agony.
""What did you say?"" Hector whispered, his voice trembling with genuine rage. ""Arthur Vargas is buried in a concrete cell outside Seattle. No one knows that location.""
""I do,"" Julian gasped through gritted teeth, blood pooling behind his lips. ""And so does the Federal Marshals Service. The moment my transponder went dark twenty minutes ago, an extraction team mobilized to that clinic. Your leverage is gone, Hector. You have nothing.""
Hector stared at him, calculating, searching Julian’s battered features for any sign of a bluff. He released Julian’s jaw with a violent shove, pulling a secure satellite phone from his coat pocket and speed-dialing a contact.
""Clinic team, report,"" Hector demanded into the receiver.
A voice on the other end crackled through the speaker, frantic and distorted by gunfire and sirens. ""Sir! The facility has been breached! Federal agents! Vargas is gone—repeat, the target is—""
A loud crack terminated the call, replaced by the hollow drone of a dead tone.
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Hector slowly lowered the phone, his face pale with sudden, terrifying comprehension. He looked at Julian, whose bruised lips were curled into a bloody, triumphant smirk.
""You're a dead man, Detective,"" Hector hissed, raising his revolver and aiming it directly between Julian’s eyes.
