Chapter 35 The Unraveling Thread

• The federal detention center’s interrogation room was a study in sterile intimidation. Cold white light, a scarred metal table bolted to the floor, and the pervasive smell of antiseptic and anxiety. Vivian Shaw, clad in a standard-issue jumpsuit that swallowed her delicate frame, looked like a ghost of her former self. The elegant bones of her face were stark against her pale skin, and the famous hands that had commanded ovations now restlessly plucked at the fabric of her sleeves, a constant, subtle tremor betraying the storm within.
• Opposite her, Agent Vance sat with a calm, implacable stillness. A digital recorder sat between them, its blinking red light the only sign of life in the room. I observed from behind the one-way mirror, Thorne at my side. My role was that of a medical consultant, there to ensure Vivian’s deteriorating condition didn’t render her statements inadmissible. In reality, I was a witness. I needed to hear it.
• “Let’s start with the beginning, Ms. Shaw,” Vance began, her voice neutral. “The car accident. The night Alexander Sterling almost died.”