It wasn’t enough to get me arrested all those years ago, framing me for his crime. His diabolical intent on revenge would never cease. I saw that now. I wondered what he had in store for me now. The thought gnawed at me incessantly as I rode helplessly in the elevator.
Soon the doors opened and the officers led me out of the elevator and into the lobby. Thankfully, there weren’t many tenants awake yet, but the ones who sat at the tables sipping their coffee stared at the scene they were witnessing with a look of shock. I tried to avoid eye contact as the only sound throughout the expansive lobby were our footsteps.
The doorman looked at me worriedly as he opened the door and let us pass.
“Mr. Mason,” he said in a panic. I just looked straight ahead, keeping my head high as we walked out onto the sidewalk where more people stopped to watch.
On the curb sat two police cars, the red and blue from their lights bouncing off the glass building behind me as an officer opened the door. He placed his hand on my head and firmly guided me into the car. He and another officer got in the front seat. A siren sounded behind us from the other squad car, and in answer, the officer driving the car flipped the switch on his car. The sirens blared in unison as we pulled away from the curb, away from the gawking early morning crowd. Away from Sadie, who wasprobably still upstairs in shock. I hoped she would do as I said and call her friends. I didn’t want her anywhere near this.
Twenty minutes later, we arrived at the station. The lead officer led me inside, past the offices, and down a dimly lit hallway lined with metal doors. He stopped at the last one on the left and opened it, leading me inside. I had flashbacks from the interrogation all those years ago. Though I hadn’t been in this exact room, they were all the same.
Sterile. Quiet. Practically empty aside from a small wooden table and two sets of chairs. All three bolted to the floor. A flickering hanging light overhead. A large mirror that I knew was really a one-way window. Camera in the top right corner, red light blinking.
It was as cold as I remembered it, and I took a seat in the chair the officer wordlessly pointed to.
“Don’t I get my phone call?” I asked coolly.
The officer looked at me with an amused smirk tugging at his lips.
“Soon enough,” he said before slipping out of the room.
I watched him go, my eyes practically glaring daggers at his back. He got off on this power. I knew this song and dance. He’d leave and join his buddies on the other side of the window to watch me sweat. But I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. I had done nothing wrong.
With no clock, I had no idea how much time had passed before the door opened again and a man with silver hair, wearing a black, ill-fitted suit strode in carrying a file under his arm. I looked him up and down casually as he sat across from me at the table.
“Mr. Mason,” he said, placing the file on the table and eyeing me with his gray eyes. “I’m Detective Benson.”
“Still waiting on that phone call, detective,” I said, drumming my fingers impatiently on the wooden table. My wrists still bound together by the handcuffs.
“Of course. Of course.” He waved me off, which pissed me off. Where the hell was the procedure they were supposed to follow? “This won’t take long,” he smiled, feigning reassurance.
I sat back in my chair and pressed my lips tightly together, watching carefully as the detective opened the file in front of him and began going through its papers. I wondered if it was his tactic to go through them so slowly, licking his thumb as he did to peel them apart, to bring my impatience to the brink. I refused to fall for it, focusing on my breathing instead.
As I waited for him to get to whatever the point of this arrest was, I tried not to think about Sadie back at the apartment, probably in a worried pace that could wear the wooden floors down. I needed to get back to her. I needed to tell her everything was okay, even though right now, it felt far from it. I clenched my jaw as my desire for answers consumed me. What the hell was Anderson up to now?
“Ah, here it is,” said the detective, slapping the paper he was holding with the back of his hand. He set it down next to the open olive-green file that my eyes drifted to.
“This is your file, Mr. Mason,” said the detective, as if sensing the question in my gaze. “Seems like you got in quite the messy situation before you became big-time CEO of Manhattan.”
I stayed quiet. He was trying to get a rise out of me.
Detective Benson just smiled at me patiently before looking down at the paper he set aside. He ran his finger over the text until it stopped at a few words highlighted in neon yellow.
“Markus Roane,” he said, reading the page.
The name hit me like a gut punch, but I just tilted my chin up and looked at him nonchalantly.
“Ring any bells?” asked the detective, raising a brow as he watched me.
I shrugged. “He was a gangbanger in my neighborhood when I was a kid. Ran drugs and weapons.”
I left out the part the detective already knew. That I had gotten caught leaving the alley after a meeting with Markus, concealing one of his guns. It was all in the file that sat before us.
“Why?” I asked, looking up at Detective Benson.
He studied me for a moment, as if trying to get a read on me. I just sat back in my chair and waited for him to break the silence that now pooled before us. It didn’t seem to bother the detective. In fact, I could see something growing behind his cold eyes, like he was about to deliver a punchline.
“Because he’s in the room next door claiming you paid him half a million dollars to put Anderson Bradley six feet under.”
