Chapter 34 FBI INTERROGATION
POV: Selena
The chair scraped loudly when I shifted my weight, the sound sharper than it needed to be in a room that already felt too small.
I wanted water. That was the first, simplest thought in my head. My throat burned from answering questions I didn’t like and swallowing words I wanted to say. Across the table, Agent Rodriguez watched me over the rim of a paper cup, his eyes steady, patient in a way that made time feel heavier.
“Let’s go back a little,” he said. “Just for clarity.”
Clarity. That word again.
The clock on the wall ticked louder than it should have. I counted three ticks before I spoke.
“I’ve already answered that,” I said.
“And I’m asking you to answer it again,” he replied, calm, almost kind. “Because details change when stories do.”
My lawyer shifted beside me. Adrian’s lead counsel, technically, but right now he was here for me. His knee brushed mine under the table, a quiet reminder that I wasn’t alone even if the room was designed to make me feel like I was.
“I didn’t alter any documents,” I said. “I didn’t forge anything. I didn’t ask anyone to do it for me.”
Rodriguez nodded slowly, as if storing the words in a careful mental file. “We’re not saying you did. We’re saying the access pattern suggests involvement.”
Six hours earlier, they had walked me through a side hallway I’d never seen before, past rooms that smelled faintly of old paper and disinfectant. No windows. Neutral walls. A space built to erase time.
At first, the questions were gentle. Where did you work. Who did you report to. When did you first notice irregularities. I answered easily, almost confidently.
Then they circled back.
Who else had your login.
Did you ever work remotely.
Were you ever instructed to bypass protocol.
Each pass shaved something off me. Not courage. Focus.
I noticed things instead. The way Rodriguez never raised his voice. The way the other agent, Miller, wrote notes but never looked up. The way the clock was placed just behind them, forcing me to turn my head if I wanted to check it.
“You’re very composed,” Miller said at one point, not looking up. “Most people aren’t.”
“I grew up learning when to stay quiet,” I replied before I could stop myself.
Rodriguez’s gaze sharpened a fraction. “Tell me about that.”
My lawyer cleared his throat. “We’re not here to discuss her childhood.”
Rodriguez held up a hand. “Fair enough.”
But the seed was planted.
At hour three, they brought in coffee. At hour four, my phone buzzed once on the table before Miller slid it out of reach. At hour five, my shoulders ached from sitting upright, from refusing to shrink.
“I need a break,” I said.
Rodriguez glanced at the clock. “Five minutes.”
In the hallway, my lawyer leaned in. “You’re doing fine.”
“I know,” I said. “That’s what scares me.”
He studied me. “Why?”
“Because this feels like it’s building toward something.”
He didn’t argue.
When we went back in, Rodriguez’s tone had shifted. Less conversational. More precise.
“We’ve reviewed server access logs from the De Luca Foundation,” he said. “There was an entry from an external IP address.”
My pulse skipped, just once.
“Three days before the leak,” he continued. “The credentials used belonged to you.”
I kept my face still. Inside, my mind raced through dates, locations, memories that suddenly felt unreliable.
“I wasn’t working remotely that week,” I said carefully.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Miller finally looked up. “Because the access point traces back to a private network in Georgetown.”
The room tilted slightly.
“That’s impossible,” I said. “I didn’t even know the system could be accessed from there.”
Rodriguez leaned back. “You’ve been staying in Georgetown.”
“Yes,” I said. “With Adrian. But I didn’t log into anything.”
“Did anyone else use your device?” Miller asked.
“No.”
“Did you ever leave it unattended?”
I thought of the penthouse. Of long nights where exhaustion blurred into trust. Of moments when I’d stepped away to the kitchen or the bathroom.
“I don’t know,” I said, and hated how honest it sounded.
Rodriguez leaned forward now, elbows on the table. “Miss Alvarez, we’re trying to determine whether you were manipulated or involved.”
“By who?” I asked.
He didn’t answer.
My lawyer interjected. “This line of questioning implies a conclusion you haven’t proven.”
Rodriguez nodded. “Which is why we’re asking.”
I felt anger rise, hot and sharp, but I kept my voice level. “If someone accessed the system using my credentials, it wasn’t me. And it wasn’t with my consent.”
“That may be,” he said. “But it places you at the center of the breach.”
The door opened briefly. A junior agent handed Rodriguez a folder. He flipped it open, scanned a page, then closed it again.
“Do you know a man named Carlos Mendez?” he asked.
My stomach dropped.
“Yes,” I said slowly. “He’s a freelance IT consultant. I worked with him once.”
“Recently?”
“Months ago.”
“Did you contact him three days before the leak?”
“No.”
Miller slid a printed call log across the table.
My number. An outgoing call. Duration short.
I stared at it, my mind scrambling. “I don’t remember this.”
Rodriguez’s voice stayed steady. “Phones remember even when people don’t.”
My lawyer leaned in. “We’ll need to verify the source of that record.”
“Of course,” Rodriguez said. “But understand how this looks.”
I swallowed. “It looks like someone wants it to look that way.”
That earned me a long look.
At hour six, fatigue settled into my bones. Not weakness. Weight.
Rodriguez folded his hands. “Miss Alvarez, we have evidence you accessed the foundation’s financial system from an unauthorized location three days before the leak. Care to explain?”
The room went still.
I didn’t answer right away. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I realized something in that moment.
This wasn’t about catching me in a lie.
It was about seeing whether I would bend.
I lifted my head. “Yes,” I said. “I do.”
And whatever came next would decide whether I walked out of that room accused or understood.