21
LEVERAGE SEASON
CALLAHAN
Webb looked smaller in captivity than he had running through that courtyard.
We'd brought him to Ravenswood, to one of the basement rooms that Adrian kept for situations requiring discretion, furnished with a chair, a table, and a single light. No windows. No distractions. Just concrete walls and the particular silence that came from being deep enough underground that screaming wouldn't carry.
Webb sat in the chair with his hands zip-tied in front of him. His expensive suit was torn, and the blood from a split lip had dried on his chin. One eye was swelling shut from where he'd caught Dom's elbow during the extraction. He looked exactly like what he was: a bureaucrat who'd built a career operating in shadows and never expected to end up on the wrong side of an interrogation.
I stood in the corner, watching, cataloguing the micro-tells. The way his breathing changed when certain topics came up. The way his gaze tracked Dom's movements with animal fear. The way he flinched at unexpected sounds.
Webb was terrified. Good. Fear made people honest.
Dom paced near the table, all controlled violence and barely restrained rage looking for an appropriate target.
Adrian stood near the door with his arms crossed, his expression carved from ice.
“Explain to me,” Adrian said, his voice quiet and deadly, “why I shouldn't dump both of you and Webb back in that courtyard and let Harrow's people finish what they started.”
“Because we got him out,” Dom said. “We saved his life.”
“You compromised the operation. Exposed yourselves in public. Brought a target directly to my home.” Adrian's gaze moved between us. “I said observe. Not engage. Not extract. Those were very simple instructions.”
“They were going to kill him,” I said, keeping my voice level. “We needed him alive to talk.”
“And now he's here. In my house. With Harrow knowing exactly where to look for him.” Adrian's expression didn't change. “So before we proceed with whatever interrogation you're planning, I need to know: was this a strategic decision or an emotional reaction?”
“Both,” Dom answered honestly. “We saw an opportunity. We took it.”
“You saw Webb in danger and reacted without thinking through the consequences.” Adrian corrected flatly. “Which is exactly the kind of recklessness that gets people killed. Think next time you do something this stupid, or don't bother coming back to Ravenswood when it goes wrong.”
Dom's jaw tightened. I kept my expression neutral. Professional.
Adrian moved to the door. “You have twelve hours to get what you need from him. Then he becomes a liability I can't afford. Understand?”
“Yes,” I said.
Adrian left. The door locked behind him with a sound that echoed through the small space.
Webb's gaze moved between Dom and me, calculating, still looking for angles despite everything.
“You can't keep me here,” he said, his voice shaking but reaching for authority. “This is kidnapping. False imprisonment. I have rights?—”
“You have exactly the rights we choose to give you.” I moved closer, pulled up a chair, and sat down across from him. “And right now, those rights extend to breathing, talking, and hoping we find you useful enough to keep alive.”
“I want a lawyer.”
“This isn't that kind of conversation.” I leaned back and studied him. “You're a Crown Court administrator of six years, paid by Elliot Harrow to handle evidence suppression, witness intimidation coordination, and payment distribution for an extensive corruption network. You've made approximately half a million pounds over those six years, and you sealed evidence in at least forty-seven cases, including the murder of Lily Rourke.”
Webb's face went white. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Yes, you do. We have the financial records. We have the transaction logs. We have communications showing exactly how the pipeline works.” I pulled out my phone and showed him screenshots of his own emails, his own bank statements. “So let's skip the denial phase and move directly to the part where you tell us everything.”
“I can't—they'll kill me?—”
“They're already trying to kill you,” Dom interrupted, his voice hard. “We saw them in that courtyard. Those weren't amateurs. Those were professionals sent to extract you or eliminate you, which means Harrow has already decided you're a liability.”
