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Two men in dark clothing standing nearby.

A table lined with instruments that should belong in a butcher’s back room.

And a man tied to the chair.

His face is swollen beyond easy recognition. One eye is sealed shut. Blood runs from his mouth down his chin, dripping onto his shirt. His breathing is wet. Ragged. The sound of something damaged trying to continue.

He lifts his head when we enter. Or tries to.

My stomach turns.

Father watches me instead of the man.

“Who is he?” I ask, swallowing down nausea. Except my voice sounds normal. Which is frightening.

“He moved money that wasn’t his to move. He also spoke to people he shouldn’t have spoken to,” Father continues. “Greed can be forgiven if it serves a purpose. Disloyalty cannot.”

The bound man tries to speak. Only blood comes out.

I force myself not to look away.

Father notices.

“Samson would want to hit him,” he says. “Cain would want to know what he knows. Both impulses have value. Neither is enough.”

The man whimpers.

Father steps closer to me.

“You, Nathaniel, must understand why this room exists.”

I stare at the man in the chair. The plastic beneath him. The instruments. The men waiting for orders.

“Punishment,” I say.

“Too simple.”

“Information.”

“Partial.”

“Fear.”

Father smiles. “Better.”

I feel cold everywhere.

“This room exists because fortunes like ours aren’t built in boardrooms alone. Men in boardrooms lie. Men in churches repent and go home to repeat the sin. But here?” He looks at the bleeding man. “Here, a man will eventually tell the truth.”

The man begins to sob.

Father turns to him at last. “Tell my son what you told the federal investigator.”

The man shakes his head.

One of the men in black moves.

“No,” Father says. “Let Nathaniel hear the refusal first.”