Chapter 49 Federal Complications

Chapter 49 Federal Complications


POV: Elizabeth

The federal building was cold in a way that had nothing to do with temperature.

They separated Helen and me immediately. She went left with three agents, still wearing her expensive dress and her confident smile. I went right with two different agents, still wearing Jessica's burgundy suit like a costume I couldn't take off.

The handcuffs came off in the interrogation room. A small mercy.

“Sit down, Miss Wakefield,” the lead agent said. He was tall, African American, maybe forty, with kind eyes that I didn’t trust. Kind eyes in federal buildings usually meant trouble. “I’m Agent Davis. This is Agent Park.”

Agent Park was a Korean woman in her thirties, sharp-featured and sharper-eyed. She set up a recording device while I sat.

“Am I under arrest?” I asked.

“You were read your rights in the conference room,” Agent Davis said. “You are currently in federal custody, yes.”

“For impersonating my sister.”

“And for interfering with an ongoing federal investigation.” Agent Park pressed record on the device. “We’ve been building a case against Helen Morrison for eight months. Your actions today potentially compromised evidence we’ve been carefully collecting.”

My stomach sank. “I didn’t know you were investigating her.”

“That’s the point of undercover investigations. People don’t know.” Agent Park consulted a tablet. “You obtained information about Patricia Chambers’s custody status and immunity negotiations. That information is legally protected. How did you access it?”

“I didn’t access anything. Marcus Chen found it through—”

I stopped. If I explained how Marcus got the information, I might implicate him too.

“Through what, Miss Wakefield?”

“I want a lawyer.”

Agent Davis nodded like he’d expected this. “That’s your right. But you should know something first. The prosecutor handling the Morrison case is willing to offer you a deal. Full immunity from the impersonation and obstruction charges in exchange for your complete testimony about everything you witnessed regarding Helen Morrison’s activities.”

“I already have recordings. Documentation. You heard them in the conference room.”

“We need more than recordings. We need a witness who can testify about Helen’s intent, about conversations not captured on tape, about the context surrounding each illegal act.” Agent Park leaned forward. “You were inside her operation, even if accidentally through your sister. You’ve met with her multiple times. You witnessed things we haven’t been able to document. That testimony is valuable.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then we charge you with criminal impersonation, obstruction of justice, and potentially conspiracy, depending on what we determine about your sister’s original involvement.” Agent Davis’s kind eyes weren’t kind anymore. “You could face three to five years in federal prison, Miss Wakefield. Is that what you want?”

No. Obviously not. But agreeing meant testifying against Helen, which meant potentially exposing details about Jessica that I’d worked so hard to protect.

“What about my sister?” I asked. “Jessica was blackmailed by Helen. She’s a victim.”

“We’re aware of her situation. Her cooperation has already been negotiated with the prosecutor’s office.” Agent Park pulled up files. “But your testimony could help or hurt her case depending on how forthcoming you are.”

The threat was clear. Cooperate completely, or Jessica suffers.

“I want to talk to my lawyer first,” I said.

They let me make a phone call. Royce answered immediately.

“Elizabeth, are you okay? Where are they holding you?”

“Federal building, interrogation room four.” I kept my voice steady. “They’re offering me a deal. Immunity if I testify against Helen. But Royce, they’re asking about Jessica. If I tell them everything…”

“Tell them everything,” he interrupted. “Jessica’s cooperation agreement already protects her. You lying or withholding information only makes things worse for you.”

“Where are you?”

“Emergency court hearing. The injunction was denied but we’re appealing. Elizabeth, I’m so sorry. I should be there with you.”

“You should be saving your company.” I closed my eyes. “I can handle this.”

“Marcus is on his way. He’ll stay with you through the deposition.” Royce’s voice was tight. “I’ll be there the moment court ends. I promise.”

The call ended.

Two hours later, I sat in a deposition room with Marcus beside me and a lawyer he’d hired named Sarah Chen—no relation. She was sharp and expensive and spoke very quickly.

“The deal is standard,” she said, reviewing documents. “You testify completely and honestly about all interactions with Helen Morrison. In exchange, all charges against you are dropped. They want the deposition now because Helen’s lawyers are already filing motions. The faster they have your testimony locked in, the stronger their case.”

“How long will it take?”

“Four to six hours.” Sarah looked at me seriously. “This is going to be exhausting. They’ll ask about everything. Every conversation, every meeting, every piece of evidence you collected. You need to be honest, even about things that make you or your sister look bad. Any lie, any omission they catch later voids the immunity deal.”

“I understand.”

Marcus squeezed my shoulder. “You’ve got this, Liz.”

The prosecutor entered. A woman in her fifties, gray-haired and efficient-looking.

“I’m Assistant U.S. Attorney Jennifer Walsh. Thank you for agreeing to cooperate, Miss Wakefield. Let’s begin.”

What followed was brutal.

She asked about my first awareness of Helen Morrison. About Jessica’s involvement with Hendricks. About every meeting, every threat, every piece of evidence I’d gathered. I answered honestly, my voice growing hoarse as hours passed.

Marcus brought me water. Sarah objected occasionally to particularly aggressive questions. But mostly I just talked, laying out the entire nightmare from beginning to end.

Four hours in, I was exhausted. My throat hurt. My head pounded. I wanted this to be over.

“Let’s talk about information sources,” Walsh said, pulling up new documents. “Helen Morrison had inside information about Sterling Corp that could only have come from someone very close to the company’s operations. Someone with access to confidential strategic plans, board discussions, financial projections.”

“She had Victor Chen,” I said. “The board member who was working with her.”

“Victor Chen provided some information, yes. But there’s evidence of a longer-term source. Someone who’s been feeding Helen Morrison inside information for at least six months.”

Walsh pulled up a photograph on her tablet and turned it toward me.

“Do you know this man?”

My heart stopped.

The photo showed my father standing outside a coffee shop, shaking hands with Helen Morrison. The timestamp was from six months ago.

“That’s my father,” I whispered.

“Robert Wakefield, professor of finance at Columbia University.” Walsh pulled up more photos. “We have seventeen documented meetings between your father and Helen Morrison over the past six months. We have bank records showing payments totaling two hundred thousand dollars from Morrison Industries shell companies to accounts your father controls.”

“No.” The word came out strangled. “No, that’s not possible.”

“We have email exchanges where your father provided detailed information about Sterling Corp’s operations, including confidential details he could only have obtained through you.” Walsh’s voice was professional, matter-of-fact. “Your father has been feeding Helen Morrison inside information for six months, Miss Wakefield. Did you know about this?”

“No. Never. I swear to God, I had no idea.”

Even as I said it, pieces were falling into place.

Dad’s questions about my work. His interest in Sterling Corp’s operations. The financial stress he’d mentioned. The unexpected debt from Jessica’s legal fees. His strange behavior after Jessica’s attack.

“Your father claims he thought he was helping with legitimate competitive intelligence,” Walsh continued. “He says Helen Morrison approached him months ago, offered to help reduce Jessica’s sentence in exchange for business information. He believed it was routine corporate research, not industrial espionage.”

“Did he know about the takeover?” I asked, my voice shaking.

“He says no. Says he had no idea Helen was planning a hostile takeover or using the information for illegal purposes.” Walsh paused. “But ignorance isn’t a legal defense for corporate espionage, Miss Wakefield. Your father is facing federal charges. Conspiracy, theft of trade secrets, corporate espionage. He’s looking at ten to fifteen years in prison.”

The room tilted.

My careful, ethical, by-the-book father had been manipulated into betraying Royce. Into contributing to everything we’d been fighting against.

“Does Royce know?” I asked.

“Mr. Sterling was informed thirty minutes ago.”

So Royce knew.

While I’d been sitting here giving testimony, he’d learned that my father had been the inside source feeding information to Helen. The reason she’d known so much about Sterling Corp’s vulnerabilities.

“Miss Wakefield, I need to know: did you ever suspect your father’s involvement?”

“No. Never.”

Sarah leaned over, whispering urgently, “You don’t have to answer more questions about your father. This is beyond the scope of—”

“I want to answer,” I interrupted. “I want everything on record. I had no knowledge of my father’s communications with Helen Morrison. I never shared confidential Sterling Corp information with him knowingly. If he obtained information through me, it was without my knowledge or consent.”

Walsh studied me for a long moment.

“I believe you. But you understand this complicates things significantly. Your sister is in prison for corporate espionage. Your father is facing charges for the same crime. And you’re here testifying against the woman who orchestrated all of it.”

“Which is exactly why my testimony should be credible,” I said. “I have nothing to gain from lying. My whole family is implicated. All I want is the truth.”

Walsh nodded slowly. “Alright. Let’s continue.”

We went for another hour.

By the time Walsh finally called a break, I was completely wrung out. Marcus helped me to a private room where I could collect myself.

“Your dad is in custody,” he said gently. “They arrested him two hours ago.”

“Where’s Royce?”

“Still in court. The judge is deliberating on the board vote appeal.” Marcus handed me his phone. “He texted. He’s trying to get here but the proceedings are taking longer than expected.”

I stared at the phone.

Royce was fighting to save his company while learning that my father had betrayed him. And I was stuck in a federal building giving testimony that might put my dad in prison for a decade.

Everything we’d fought for felt like it was crumbling anyway.

“What’s going to happen to my father?” I asked.

Marcus’s expression was grim. “If he cooperates and testifies against Helen, maybe five years. If he fights it and loses, fifteen.”

Five years minimum.

My father—who’d never even gotten a speeding ticket—facing federal prison.

Because Helen Morrison had manipulated his guilt about Jessica into something monstrous.

Sarah stuck her head in. “They’re ready to resume. Last hour, then you’re done.”

I stood up, steadying myself.

“Let’s finish this.”

But as I walked back to the deposition room, I couldn’t stop thinking about the look that must have been on Royce’s face when they told him my father was the mole. The betrayal he must have felt.

And whether our relationship could survive this latest revelation.