Chapter 8 - The Interrogation Room
The observation room behind the two-way mirror on the third floor of the federal building was dark and freezing cold.
I stood beside Agent Vance, looking through the coated glass into Interrogation Room B.
On the other side of the glass sat Ryan.
The swagger was entirely extinguished. He was dressed in an orange corrections jumpsuit, his wrists shackled to a heavy metal D-ring bolted to the center of the steel table. Across from him sat his attorney, Arthur Sterling—an expensive, silver-haired man in a three-thousand-dollar suit who looked like he wanted to be anywhere else on earth.
Assistant U.S. Attorney Sarah Cho sat opposite them, a slender woman with iron-gray hair and a quiet, lethal delivery that terrified defense attorneys across the Southern District of Ohio.
Cho laid three manila folders on the table.
“Mr. Sterling,” Cho began, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “Ten minutes ago, your client’s father, Frank Miller, signed a full proffer agreement in Room C.”
Ryan’s head snapped up. His eyes bulged. “What?”
“Shut up, Ryan,” Sterling muttered under his breath, leaning forward. “Is this on the record, Counselor?”
“It is,” Cho said calmly. “Frank Miller has admitted under oath that the laundering scheme through Miller Automotive was conceived, managed, and executed by Ryan Miller. He stated that the idea to transfer corporate liability and the forensic footprint to Emily Miller on her eighteenth birthday was entirely Ryan’s plan.”
“That’s a lie!” Ryan shrieked, lunging forward until the chains rattled violently against the steel table. “He’s lying! He’s trying to save his own skin! He took sixty percent of the cut! He built the cash drop in the garage!”
“We know,” Cho said, completely unfazed by his outburst. “We have your father’s ledger. We also have the audio recording recovered from Emily’s phone, where you explicitly state: ‘She gets probation; I walk clean.’”
Ryan sank back into his metal chair as if the air had been vacuumed out of his lungs.
“Your client is facing fourteen counts of federal wire fraud, aggravated identity theft targeting vulnerable persons over the age of sixty-five, conspiracy to launder monetary instruments, and obstruction of justice,” Cho continued, tapping her pen against the top folder. “With sentencing enhancements for vulnerable victims and leadership role, his guideline range begins at twenty-two years without the possibility of federal parole.”
Sterling didn't even look at his client. He closed his leather briefcase, turned to Ryan, and spoke in a flat, clinical tone.
“You take the deal, Ryan. You plead to counts one through four, you forfeit every digital asset and cryptocurrency key in your possession, you testify against your father’s co-conspirators in the wholesale VoIP spoofing network, and Miss Cho recommends twelve years at FCI Elkton.”
“Twelve years?” Ryan’s voice broke into a high, pitiful sob. Tears began streaming down his cheeks, leaving tracks through the grime on his face. “I’m twenty-two! I can’t spend twelve years in prison! Mom! Where’s Mom?! Call my mother!”
“Your mother,” Cho said, standing up and gathering her papers, “is currently being processed for federal misprision of a felony and conspiracy. She won't be calling anyone for a very long time.”
Through the two-way glass, I watched my brother bury his face in his shackled hands, sobbing like a terrified toddler.
For ten years, I had believed he was a giant. I had believed his confidence, his cruelty, and his effortless dominance over our household were permanent laws of nature.
Standing in the dark of that observation room, I finally saw him for what he truly was: a weak, cowardly little parasite who had stolen the life savings of dying grandmothers because he was too lazy to build a life of his own, and who had tried to destroy his sister because he was too terrified to face the consequences of his own greed.
I stepped back from the glass.
“I’m ready to leave,” I told Agent Vance.
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“You don't want to hear the rest?” he asked.
“No,” I said, pulling the zipper of my fleece up to my chin. “I already know how his story ends.”
