Sentenced to Marriage

Chapter 65

Interrogation My heart thundered at an insane rate. Was that it? Was Callan finally going to get the punishment he deserved? I looked at the agents but couldn’t read too much from their faces. They kept passing each other some documents while I was heading out of the i

of the interrogation room, communicating by either frowning or nodding.

“Excuse me, Agent Collins…” I patted his arm to get his attention. “Please, tell me, what else can I do to send this bastard behind bars?”

He gave me a wry smile. “You are welcome to stay and watch the interrogation with Mr. Lan, but don’t count on great results.”

“What do you mean?” I asked nervously. “It’s your word against his. We’ve got a little circumstantial evidence, but unless he confesses, he can go free.” His words felt as if someone had pierced my heart. My face turned pale at the mere thought that this son of a bitch could get away with it.

“Can you get his phone?” I asked, thinking about the source of possible evidence.

“Not without a warrant, and I doubt that he would let us see his phone willingly. Besides, he’s a rich family’s kid, so I bet that his lawyer is already on his way here as well. We would need something strong, and we only have a few street camera shots with his face to prove that he was around the warehouse area… and your testimony,” he explained. I gritted my teeth. There had to be some other evidence we could use… “Can we get data from relay towers to get his mobile phone location from that day?” I suggested.

The agent nodded but grimaced. “We have already asked for it, but getting that kind of information takes time. Perhaps, we’ll get it tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow, or next week.”

I clenched my fists, fully determined. “What if… I could get you the information you need while you run the interrogation?” “What do you mean?” he narrowed his eyes at me. I smiled nervously, thinking that I might have gone too far in trying to be helpful. Suddenly, Aren showed up as he walked into the corridor with a smug smile.

“Jack,” he referred to the agent, “my wife is very skillful when it comes to finding any form of digital data. She can help as long as you don’t ask how she got it.”

I took a deep breath and locked my eyes on Agent Collins. “I know that you won’t be able to use the information from me in a courtroom, but it could be used to force Callan Winton to confess, right?”

Jack Collins exhaled, the corners of his lips curled up into a wicked smile. “What else can you find?”

I smirked, “How about data from his car’s GPS?”

Agent Collins agreed that he would dwell on the matter of whether what I was about to do was legit or not. We all knew that he was able to get the same information legally, but for us, time was a crucial aspect. Why? Because it was almost certain that once Callan walked out of that office, Augustus Winton would do everything to send Callan to a country without an extradition treaty, even if Callan had to be thrown into the luggage hatch of Wintons’ private

jet.

I turned on my laptop and worked my wonders while Agent Collins, who insisted that I call him by his first name from now on, pretended that he didn’t see me hacking into the cellphone network. It took me less than twenty minutes to find the location of the cellphone towers that his phone had used on the day of my kidnapping. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the evidence we all hoped for…

“He must have turned off his phone when he was on his way,” Jack said, heaving a sound of frustration.NôvelDrama.Org holds text © rights.

“Unfortunately, my stepbrother used those few neurons he still has in his brain. It looks like the last relay tower locates him as near as the surveillance camera images of him that we found at the gas station, ten miles away from the warehouse,” Aren clarified.

Jack shook his head. “It’s not enough. That fucker and his lawyer are going to be here in less than fifteen minutes.”

The mastermind of this operation could have been intelligent enough not to make any mistakes, but Callan wasn’t like that. I had known him well. He had to leave his trail somewhere. Of course, his fingerprints could have been found at the warehouse that eventually blew up. His fingerprint could have been somewhere among at least fifty other fingerprints that belonged to the mercenaries. But it could take months, if not years, to find evidence of his presence there. I promised Jack that I would get him the data from Callan’s car’s GPS, and he would improvise with what the FBI had on him at that moment in the meantime. This time, Aren and I walked into the room behind the two-way mirror where we could witness Callan Winton’s interrogation. I was sitting with the computer on my lap and staring into the depths of the still -empty room.

Aren grabbed my trembling hand. “It’s OK,” he whispered. “We will catch him one way or another, even if he walks out free today. I will chase him to the north pool and back if I have to.

“No…” I muttered before shifting my eyes to my husband. “He’s going to end up behind bars today.”

Five minutes later, Callan walked into the interrogation room with his lawyer and Jack. My blood started to boil as I saw Callan’s smug expression. I wanted to punch that cocky face just to wipe his smile off. Callan’s lawyer put his briefcase on the table and pulled out a file of documents, smirking at Jack. Agent Collins glanced our way and winked at Aren and me. I knew that he was way too experienced in his field to feel threatened by a mere desk jockey.

“So, Mr. Winton, mind telling me what you were doing on Saturday, the 28th of May?” Jacked

started.

Callan glanced at his lawyer, waiting for him to give him a nod of approval before he answered, “I was in the Hamptons, at my family’s summer estate. I have bills from gas stations to prove it.” On his mark, the lawyer took out a pile of receipts and handed them over to Agent Collins. Jack smiled wryly. “So you were at the gas station on Long Island Avenue, on your way to the Hamptons?” “That’s right,” Callan confirmed with a smirk. “Why did you choose a local station instead of a few bigger ones you had just a few miles further?” he asked, narrowing his gaze at Callan. Callan shrugged. “I liked it… Its name was “Green Gas Station,” and I care for Mother Nature.” Aren cursed under his breath, his jaw clenching in anger. “What is it?” I muttered, placing my hand on his arm. “The fucker came prepared. The surveillance footage was from the same station as the receipts he has just shown. Our evidence will be worthless in court now,” he squeezed through his teeth.

“But that station is near the warehouse, right?” I asked. Aren sighed. “Yes, but they will say that it was merely a coincidence that he was in the area.” I knew that he was right, and that made me seriously pissed off. Gritting my teeth, I shifted my attention to the computer screen and started to look for a way to hack into Callan’s GPS. It was fortunate that the old Augustus had never trusted his grandson enough to let him drive without a tracker he could trace. I knew what kind of system the Wintons used because once Callan asked me to disable it so he could go to a party outside Oxford unnoticed. I was stupid enough to help him then, but now, hopefully, this knowledge was going to help me lock that son of a bitch for good. I almost burst out into evil laughter as I found out that all their codes remained the same as four years ago. That made getting all the information I needed the easiest thing on Earth. I copied every single route Callan’s car went that day. Of course, his one-hour stop not far away from the warehouse was marked there as well. As I sent Jack a message with everything I had found, I finger-gunned Callan and said triumphantly, “Busted!”