The fluorescent tubes in the ceiling cast a flat, sterile glow over the Interrogation Room inside the Joint Task Force Lodgings at Lakeport Development Zone. The walls were bare concrete, the table between them scarred with old coffee rings and the nervous scratches of past occupants. Gareth Quinn sat on one side, his spine rigid, one finger jabbing toward Ambrose Ward as he launched into another round of indignant protest. His voice climbed to the register of a man who believed sheer volume could substitute for innocence.
"I have served faithfully for over twenty years," Quinn thundered, his face flushed an alarming shade of crimson. "Twenty years of clean service, and you drag me in here like a common criminal? I demand to know on what grounds you have detained me and where your evidenc
