Darren broke down after two hours with him.
It didn’t take fists. There were no chains, and no torture. There was just the weight of the truth delivered piece by piece like iron nails to a coffin. Quinn led the questioning. He showed no emotion, no inflection. Just facts laid out in a cold, clinical sequence: timestamps, encrypted comms, inventory discrepancies, a crate Darren signed off on that never reached its destination.
He tried to deny it all at first. He tried so hard to redirect, deflect, even blame it on clerical error. But Quinn didn’t blink nor flinch. He didn’t budge. He just let the silence stretch until Darren finally cracked under the unbearing silence that filled the room.
“I didn’t know what it was for,” he croaked, holding back the tears that threatened to fall. “She
