Chapter 8 - The Interrogation
Back in the subterranean holding cell of the Hudson Valley estate, Madison Cole sat chained to a heavy steel bolted chair under the harsh glare of a single overhead fluorescent bulb.
Her expensive silk gown was torn and stained with dirt. Her hair hung in tangled blond strands across her face. But despite her disheveled appearance, she wasn't crying.
She was smiling.
A sharp, mocking grin that stretched across her lips as she stared directly into the corner security lens.
“You’re too late, Adrian,” she whispered to the empty room, knowing he could hear her through the audio feed in the command center upstairs. “You think you found a few old papers in a cedar closet? You think you’ve won?”
The heavy steel cell door unlocked with a loud clack.
Rachel Bennett stepped into the room, holding a heavy silver tray containing a single glass of water. She walked slowly toward Madison, her face a mask of calm, cold determination.
Madison sneered as Rachel approached. “Ah, the little maid. Did Adrian send you down here to clean up my mess?”
Rachel didn't flinch. She set the tray down on the concrete floor just out of Madison’s reach.
“No, Miss Cole,” Rachel said softly. “Mr. Westwood is already in the air. He’s going to the Adirondack facility.”
Madison’s smile faltered for a split second, before returning with a vengeance. “Let him go. By the time his helicopter touches down, there won't be anything left to find. The cleaners are already there.”
Rachel stepped closer, leaning down so her face was only inches from Madison’s. The fear that had defined Rachel three years ago was entirely gone, replaced by the fierce, protective instinct of a mother who had fought tooth and nail to keep her daughter safe.
“You think you’re so smart, Madison,” Rachel whispered. “You think because you have money, and lawyers, and guns, you can destroy everyone around you and walk away.”
“I am smart,” Madison hissed. “And you’re nothing—a servant scrubbing floors in a house where you don't belong.”
“Maybe,” Rachel replied calmly. “But while you were busy trying to steal Mr. Westwood’s empire, you forgot one very important detail.”
Madison frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Rachel reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a small, old-fashioned brass key—the exact duplicate of the one hidden behind the cedar panel.
“When I worked in this house three years ago,” Rachel said quietly, “Mrs. Westwood trusted me more than she trusted anyone. The night she found out what you were planning... she didn't just hide her Cartier box in the wall.”
Madison’s eyes widened in sudden, stark horror.
“She made a duplicate recording,” Rachel continued, her voice steady and triumphant. “A digital voice log stored on an encrypted drive, handed to me for safekeeping with instructions: ‘If anything happens to me, give it to Adrian only when he’s ready to look.’”
Madison thrashed wildly against the steel chains, her face turning crimson with panic. “Give it to me! Where is it? You bitch!”
Rachel stood up, stepping back toward the heavy steel door.
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“Mr. Westwood already has it,” Rachel said, tapping her pocket. “And by the time he lands in the Adirondacks, your little extraction team won't be rescuing anyone. They’ll be walking straight into a trap.”
She pulled the heavy door shut, leaving Madison screaming curses into the dark, empty concrete cell.
