CHAPTER EIGHT

Rachel pushed open the door to the interrogation room, the harsh fluorescent light spilling into the hallway. She strode into the interrogation room, hands tense at her sides.

Rebecca Morris was dead, and Grant’s company had suffered because of articles the up-and-coming journalist had written. And now, she glanced over her shoulder, waiting to see if Ethan would appear down the hall. He was running a background check into Elias Grant and into Grant industries.

The information, she hoped, would be the edge they needed in the interrogation.

She approached cautiously.

Elias Grant sat across from her, his hands folded neatly on the metal table. His eyes met hers, a glint of amusement in their depths.

"Shall we begin, Ranger Blackwood?" he asked, his voice smooth and unruffled.

Rachel scowled. She settled slowly, splaying her hands on either side.

"We'll begin when my partner arrives," she retorted, her voice echoing through the sparse room. The walls were a dull grey in the harsh light, scratched paint revealing the concrete underneath. A single mirror stretched across the far wall, hiding observing officers behind its reflective surface.

Rachel watched Grant closely, taking in every detail. His suit was impeccably tailored, not a crease out of place despite his earlier encounter, and his hair was slicked back, professional as ever. His countenance remained unruffled, like he was attending a business meeting instead of sitting in an interrogation room.

She didn't miss the glint of arrogance in his eyes. The eyes of a man who knew his power and flaunted it with impunity. Rachel held his gaze steadily, refusing to back down. Growing up as a half-native woman, she’d developed a spine of steal.

Just then, the door creaked open, and Ethan strolled in, a folder clutched tightly under his arm. He nodded at Elias before taking the seat next to Rachel.

"Sorry for the delay," he said curtly before settling down. "Shall we?"

He flipped open his folder as he spoke. Rachel's eyes flickered towards him briefly. She noticed that he'd deliberately placed the folder to block Elias' view - there was no way Elias could see what was inside.

Rachel grabbed it without taking her eyes off Grant. The name 'Robert Morris' was written at the top, along with a number that looked like an office line.

Rachel took a deep breath and opened the questioning with, "Care to explain your connection with Rebecca Morris?"

Ethan placed a folder on the table. Elias' eyes flickered to the photograph in the open file. A hint of a smile played on his lips – a cat playing with a mouse before going in for the kill. It sent an icy prickle down Rachel's spine.

"I've told you, Ranger," he said, leaning back in his chair. His calm demeanor was unnerving. "She wrote some articles about me. Nothing more."

"And yet," Rachel interjected, "You seemed quite disturbed when I mentioned her name."

"She was an annoying fly buzzing around my head," Elias replied, shrugging nonchalantly. "But I swatted her away and moved on."

The metaphor made Rachel's blood boil. Rebecca was a person, not an insect, to be dismissed so lightly.

Suddenly, the door burst open, the sound reverberating through the small room. A team of lawyers strode in, their expensive suits and briefcases filling the space.

"This interview is over," the lead lawyer declared, his voice booming with authority. "Mr. Grant will not be answering any more questions without his legal counsel present."

Rachel stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the concrete floor.

Rachel's jaw clenched as the lawyers asserted their authority, their presence an unwelcome intrusion. "We're not finished here," she said, her tone icy. "I have questions that need answers."

The lead lawyer, a man with slicked-back hair and a shark-like grin, shook his head. "You'll have your answers, Ranger Blackwood, but on our terms. We'll be supervising this interview from here on out."

One of them snapped his fingers as if calling for a waiter and waved towards Ethan as if summoning a hound.

"We demand refreshments. Bottled waters for everyone, please," he said, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.

Rachel's patience strained at his condescending tone but she held her tongue. She gave a curt nod to Ethan, who left the room to fetch the water.

While waiting, Rachel studied these new arrivals. Their expensive suits were perfectly pressed, their hair immaculately styled. Each one had a self-satisfied smirk etched on their face.

When Ethan returned with a tray of bottled waters, another lawyer pulled out an extra chair and set it next to Elias without uttering a single word. The others followed suit, closing ranks around Elias like a pack of wolves.

With everyone settled, Rachel resumed the interrogation. "Mr. Grant," she began, her gaze hardening, "Can you tell us where you were last night?"

Ethan slid his phone subtly across the table to Rachel while keeping Elias under watchful scrutiny. She read the message quickly: 'Mob connections - law firm.' A chill ran down her spine as she realized the gravity of the situation.

Elias shrugged nonchalantly as he answered her question. "I was at work, like always."

"And can anyone vouch for that?" Rachel asked.

Elias nodded confidently towards his attorneys. "All three of these gentlemen can."

One by one, each lawyer nodded in agreement.

Rachel stood up now, arms crossed. She released a snort of derision. “Your lawyers are your alibi? Please—be serious.”

Elias just smirked. “An alibi is an alibi. Wouldn’t want to discriminate, now would you, Ranger?”

Rachel didn’t answer but rather continued to pace. She glanced back towards where Ethan had stepped out into the hall briefly. She frowned, noticing her partner keeping the door ajar with one foot. A few seconds later, he nodded at someone out of sight and re-entered the room.

Rachel’s eyes darted back to the postures of the four predators across the table from her. She studied each of them closely, taking in their appearances one at a time.

As the lawyers settled in, their attention turned to Elias Grant. They leaned in close, their voices low and conspiratorial. Rachel strained to hear their conversation, but their words were muffled and indistinct.

Ethan moved closer, his shoulder brushing against Rachel's. Discreetly, he slid his phone into her hand, the screen illuminated with a message. Rachel glanced down, her eyes narrowing as she read the words: "Lawyers have known mob connections."

A chill ran down her spine. She looked up at Ethan, a silent question in her eyes. He nodded almost imperceptibly, his expression grim.

Rachel's gaze flickered back to the lawyers, their presence taking on a new, sinister meaning. She studied their faces, searching for any hint of the corruption that lurked beneath their polished exteriors.

The lead lawyer turned to Rachel, his smile sharp and predatory. "Now, Ranger Blackwood, I believe you had some questions for my client?"

Rachel straightened her shoulders, her resolve hardening. She met Elias Grant's gaze, her eyes boring into his.

"Let's start with the night of the murder," she said, her voice steady and unwavering. "Where were you on the evening of June 15th?"

“I told you. With these fine gentlemen.”

Rachel pulled out a folder from her stack of documents, her fingers flipping through the pages with practiced ease. She retrieved several newspaper clippings and slid them across the table towards Elias Grant.

Rachel tapped her finger on one of the headlines, her nail making a harsh sound against the paper. "According to these articles, Ms. Morris wrote several unflattering pieces about your company, Grant Industries."

Grant leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "I don't have time to read every little tabloid story that comes out about my business."

She opened her mouth to respond, but Ethan beat her to it.

"Mr. Grant, can you account for your whereabouts on the nights of June 15th and June 16th? Your location, not your witnesses."

Grant shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling in a casual motion. "I was at work, putting in late nights at the office. My lawyers can attest to that."

The lawyers nodded in unison, their expressions smug and self-satisfied.

Rachel exchanged a look with Ethan, skepticism written plainly on her face. She knew Grant was lying, but proving it would be another matter entirely.

She leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table. "And I suppose you have no idea what happened to Ms. Morris on the night she was murdered?"

Grant's smile was cold and empty. "As I said, Ranger Blackwood, I scarcely knew the woman. And I certainly had nothing to do with her death."

Rachel's fingers curled into fists, the urge to wipe that smirk off his face nearly overwhelming. But she forced herself to remain calm, to keep her emotions in check.

She couldn't let Grant see how much he was getting under her skin.

When dealing with organized crime, the rules were different. Alibis meant very little, for starters.

As she turned her gaze to the lawyers, each of them wearing an air of arrogance as if the room belonged to them, she realized that they may have already won this round. The thought churned her stomach with frustration.

Elias leaned back in his chair, his smug smile never leaving his face. "Anything else you need to know, Ranger Blackwood?" he asked.

Rachel gritted her teeth behind a feigned polite smile. She’d faced predators before, and sometimes, the direct approach was the best.

Arrogance could be used as leverage. "Actually, yes," she said, "How about a polygraph test?"

Elias' lawyers immediately erupted into protest, their outrage filling the room. But Elias simply shrugged and raised a hand to silence them.

"I've got nothing to hide," he said, meeting Rachel's gaze squarely with an unnerving confidence in his eyes.

“Prove it.”

Her words were like a trigger pull.

Grant's eyes gleamed, a predatory glint. He leaned back, his posture relaxed. "I'll take a polygraph."

The lawyers erupted, voices overlapping. "Absolutely not!" "Mr. Grant, we advise against-"

Grant silenced them with a raised hand. His gaze locked on Rachel. "I have nothing to hide. If I pass, you let me go. Simple as that."

Rachel's jaw clenched. The audacity, the sheer arrogance. She couldn't let him manipulate the situation. "Not a chance. Or have you forgotten our last encounter?"

Grant's brow furrowed, feigning confusion. "Refresh my memory."

"The IT worker. I caught you about to execute him." Rachel's words were clipped, harsh.

A flicker of recognition, then dismissal. Grant waved a hand. "A misunderstanding. Earl will corroborate. He's still employed with us, after all."

Rachel's stomach turned. The implication hung heavy - Grant's influence ran deep. Even potential witnesses were under his thumb.

She couldn't let him dictate the terms. Agreeing to the polygraph was too risky, the outcome too uncertain. But the alternative... Letting Grant walk out, untouchable. It made her blood boil.

Rachel's mind raced, searching for a strategy. She needed to regain control, to find another angle. But Grant's smug expression never wavered. He knew he held the cards. And he was calling her bluff.

The tension stretched, thick and suffocating. Rachel's options dwindled with each passing second.

She had to make a decision.

She exchanged a glance with Ethan. His eyes mirrored her doubts, her frustration. But there was something else - a flicker of determination. A silent encouragement.

Rachel drew a breath, steeling herself. She had to take the chance. Despite the lawyers' leeriness, despite the sinking feeling in her gut.

"Fine." The word felt like lead on her tongue. "We'll do the polygraph."

Grant's smile widened. Victorious. He rose from his seat, smoothing his suit. "Excellent. Shall we?"

Rachel and Ethan stood, the scrape of chairs loud in the sudden silence. The lawyers mumbled amongst themselves, discontent evident in their hunched postures.

Grant strode towards the door, his lawyers flanking him. Rachel and Ethan followed, footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Ethan pulled out his phone, dialing the polygraph administrator. His voice was low, urgent.

Rachel's heart pounded as they navigated the maze of corridors. Each step brought them closer to the polygraph room. Closer to the truth.

Or another dead end.

The weight of the case bore down on her. Rebecca Morris' face flashed through her mind. The promising young journalist, silenced forever.

Rachel's resolve hardened. She couldn't let her murder go unsolved.

They reached the polygraph room. Grant entered first, confidence radiating from his every move.

Rachel paused at the threshold. The room seemed to stretch before her, a yawning chasm.

She glanced at Ethan. He nodded, a silent show of support.

Drawing a steadying breath, Rachel stepped inside. The door closed behind her with a finality that sent a chill down her spine.

There was no turning back now.

The polygraph room was stark, clinical. White walls, a single table, two chairs. The polygraph machine sat on the table, wires and sensors coiled like serpents.

Grant settled into one of the chairs, leaning back with an air of nonchalance. His lawyers hovered by the door, their presence a looming shadow.

The polygraph technician, a middle-aged man with a receding hairline, approached the table. "I'm sorry, but the rest of you will have to wait outside."

Protests erupted from the lawyers, voices overlapping in a cacophony of discontent. Grant silenced them with a wave of his hand. "It's fine. I have nothing to hide."

The lawyers reluctantly filed out, throwing glares over their shoulders. The door closed behind them with a soft click.

Rachel stood in the corner, arms crossed, watching as the technician attached the sensors to Grant's fingers, his chest, his arm. Grant submitted to the process with a smirk, his eyes never leaving Rachel's.

"Nervous, Ranger Blackwood?" he asked, his voice a silken purr.

Rachel's jaw clenched. "Not at all, Mr. Grant."

The technician finished the setup, settling behind the machine. "We're ready to begin."

Rachel nodded, a tight jerk of her head. She turned to leave, her hand on the doorknob.

"Good luck, Mr. Grant," she said, the words bitter on her tongue.

Grant's laughter followed her out of the room, a mocking echo that seemed to chase her down the hallway.

Rachel paced outside the polygraph room, her footsteps a staccato beat against the linoleum. Each passing second felt like an eternity, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on her.

Ethan leaned against the wall, his face drawn. "Do you think he'll pass?"

Rachel shook her head, a sharp, jerky motion. "I don't know. He's a master manipulator. He could probably fool the machine."

Inside the polygraph room, Grant sat perfectly still, his expression a mask of serenity. The technician's voice was a monotonous drone, asking question after question.

"Is your name Elias Grant?"

"Yes."

"Are you the CEO of Grant Industries?"

"Yes."

"Did you murder Rebecca Morris?"

A pause. A heartbeat. Then, "No."

The technician made a notation on his clipboard, his face revealing nothing.

Grant's lips curved into a smile, a predator's grin.

Outside the room, Rachel closed her eyes, her head falling back against the wall.

Elias was too confident. He didn’t know anything. She suspected she knew how this polygraph would end. Which meant… Rebecca Morris was still dead, and only one name remained on their list of suspects.

Robert Morris.

Her own father.

She scowled through the window, watching as Grant continued to answer the questions.

"Did you ever threaten Rebecca Morris?" The technician asked.

"No."

"Were you at your office both last night and the night before?"

"Yes."

The machine hummed, documenting each pulse, each breath. The needle on the graph moved in a steady rhythm, mimicking Grant's calm heartbeat.

Grant's expression remained cool, placid. He looked as though he was sitting in his luxurious office chair instead of the hot seat of a polygraph machine. His gaze never wavered from the technician's face, his voice never faltered.

Outside, Rachel felt her stomach twist into knots. Each of Grant's affirmatives was like a punch to her gut. She clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms.

She turned to Ethan. "We're going to need to dig deeper into Robert Morris."

Ethan nodded solemnly, his face tight with worry. "If it comes to that."

Rachel let out a bitter laugh, "It's already come to that, Ethan."

Ethan didn't respond. If Grant walked out of that room in the clear, they had only one suspect left.

To accuse the victim’s own father?

It would send everything into chaos. But she’d shot at the killer. She could’ve sworn she’d made contact. But if the killer had an accomplice, or was only winged, maybe he’d been able to hide the injury.

But it wasn't Grant. So, was Robert hiding a gunshot wound? Had she missed?

She shook her head, frustration mounting. Already, the next step seemed apparent. But it wasn’t going to make her any friends.