Page 39 of For Silence

"An illusion, you say?" Morgan probed, her mind racing, piecing together the man's psyche. She could see the obsessive glint in his eye, the fervor of someone who dug too deep into the world's ugliness.

"Absolutely," Caldwell spat out the word like it was poison. "The system is corrupt. People like her," he jabbed a finger at Mariana's photo, "they manipulate it to their advantage."

"Manipulate?" Derik interjected, leaning closer. "Like bailing out a brother from jail after a DUI?"

Caldwell shrugged, feigning indifference. "I didn't know about that. But am I surprised? Not in the least. More corruption from those who claim to hold the scales of justice."

Morgan's tattoos seemed to prickle under her skin, a silent testament to her own dance with injustice. She eyed Caldwell, seeing the outline of a man who might believe murder was a fair sentence for such corruption.

"Is that what you believe, Mr. Caldwell?" she asked, her tone deceptively soft. "That some are above the law, while others are buried beneath it?"

"Wouldn't be the first time the law failed to protect the innocent or punish the guilty," Caldwell said, his voice rising. "Look around, Agent Cross. It's everywhere if you're not afraid to see it."

"Believe me," Morgan replied, her dark eyes unflinching, "I'm not afraid to see anything."

Caldwell met her gaze, and for a moment, there was a silent acknowledgment of kindred spirits warped by different fates. Then he looked away, the connection severed as quickly as it had formed.

Derik shifted in his chair, the sound jolting the tension up another notch. "We're not blind, Henry. But we do believe in due process."

"Due process," Caldwell scoffed, shaking his head. "A pretty term for a dirty game."

Morgan leaned forward, her elbows resting on the cold steel table that separated her from Henry Caldwell. Her eyes, sharp as a falcon's, never left his face. "Where were you the past two nights, Henry?"

"Home," he replied, with a shrug that seemed to feign nonchalance.

"Alone?" Derik chimed in, his voice steady and probing.

"Yep." Caldwell's gaze didn't waver, but a bead of sweat made an escape down his temple.

"Anyone who can verify that?" Morgan pressed, her question hanging heavy in the silent room.

"Probably not," he admitted, a touch of irritation creeping into his tone. "But since when is being alone a crime?"

"Being alone isn't," Morgan shot back, her tone crisp. "But it doesn't make for much of an alibi either."

Caldwell's chuckle was dry, void of humor. "Well, Agent Cross, I hate to break it to you, but not having an alibi doesn't mean I'm guilty of anything."

"Maybe not," she conceded, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. His confidence seemed genuine, but so often the mask of innocence was the guilty's favorite guise.

She slid a photograph across the table—a scanned copy of the note sent to the FBI. The letters, jagged and taunting, spelled out a clear message: Back off.

"Seen this before?" she asked, the edge in her voice like the blade of a knife.

Caldwell peered at the image, his forehead creasing. "Never," he said after a moment, pushing the photo back toward her. "I've never seen that note."

"Interesting," Morgan remarked, her voice betraying none of the skepticism that churned inside her. The stationary was common enough, but the words... they had the cadence of someone who knew how to wield them like weapons.

"Is it?" Caldwell asked, an eyebrow lifted in mock curiosity.

"Very," Derik added, leaning back in his chair. "Especially considering it was written by someone who knows their way around words."

"Are you implying something, Agent...?" Caldwell trailed off, a challenge in his eyes.

"Greene," he supplied curtly. "And we're not implying anything. We're just doing our job."

"Of course," Caldwell said with a thin smile. "Just like I do mine. Now, I think I need a lawyer.”

Morgan studied Caldwell with a gaze as sharp as the edge of a knife. "So, you need a lawyer, Mr. Caldwell?" she inquired, her tone flat. The interrogation room felt smaller every second, tension coiling in the air like a spring.

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