Chapter 7 — Under Suspicion
1258 Words
The interrogation room was too clean, too quiet, too bright.
Alex Walker had been in plenty of rooms like this before, but never on this side of the table. The walls were painted an unremarkable gray, the mirror gleamed with clinical precision, and the single lamp overhead hummed a steady note that wormed into her skull.
They had stripped her of everything at the door: her phone, her badge, her weapon. Even her watch. The emptiness on her wrist felt like shackles.
She forced her breathing steady. Control the pace, control the fear.
The door opened with a heavy click. Detective Mason walked in, tall and wiry, his suit wrinkled in ways that suggested sleepless nights—or a man who simply didn’t care. He carried a folder so stuffed its corners bent outward. He placed it on the table like a weapon.
“Agent Walker,” he said. “Or should I say suspect?”
“Alex is fine,” she answered, tone sharp enough to slice.
He sat opposite her, opened the folder, and spread photographs across the table. Grainy stills of surveillance footage, timestamp glowing in the corner. In every shot, she sat at Jacob’s desk, fingers moving on the keyboard, her face a cold mask of concentration.
“Explain this,” Mason said, tapping the photo with one long finger.
Alex leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “I can’t explain a freeze-frame. Play the recording.”
His lips curved faintly. He slid the laptop from the folder, hit play. The video ran: Alex entering Jacob’s office, crossing straight to his desk, typing. No hesitation, no wasted motion.
Her pulse hammered. Something was wrong—too smooth, too deliberate.
“Pause,” she ordered. Mason raised a brow, but obliged.
“Zoom the keyboard.”
Pixels bled across the screen, but the outline of the keys was visible.
“There,” Alex said, stabbing a finger at the M key. “Jacob broke that cap weeks ago. He complained every time he typed his own name. In this video it’s perfect.”
“Maintenance could’ve replaced it,” Mason said lazily.
“Not at eleven at night. And look closer—see the flicker in the corner? That camera has a dead pixel cluster that repeats every eleven frames. Here it jitters after eight. Whoever doctored this, they masked the artifact, but sloppily.”
For a moment Mason’s face cracked, surprise flickering in his eyes. Then it vanished behind a mask of cool authority. He closed the laptop with a decisive clap.
“You’re reaching,” he said.
“I’m pointing at facts.”
He leaned in, his voice sharp. “Or spinning stories. Let’s try something easier. When did your relationship with Agent Lang begin?”
Her throat tightened. “A year ago. After an operation in Prague.”
“So you had access to his home. His life. His passwords.”
“I had his trust,” she snapped. “Not his credentials.”
Mason smirked. “Convenient. A woman in love, a man with clearance, and files disappearing into the ether.”
Anger flared hot under her ribs. “I didn’t betray him. Or this country.”
He slid a paper toward her. “Then you won’t mind this. Effective immediately, you are suspended pending investigation. Your clearance revoked, your passport flagged. You will remain in the District until further notice. Do you understand?”
Alex stared at the neat lines of text. The words were simple, but they slammed into her like gunfire. Suspended. Flagged. Under suspicion.
She raised her head slowly. “This is a frame-up.”
Mason stood, collecting his folder. “Then prove it. Until then, Walker, you’re not one of us. You’re prey.”
The word echoed after he left.
For a moment, Alex sat in silence, staring at her reflection in the mirrored wall. She looked pale, dangerous, cornered. A version of herself she barely recognized.
The door opened again. Colonel Stevens stepped inside. His coat was damp from rain, his jaw tight with fury he didn’t show Mason.
“I didn’t do it,” Alex said immediately.
“I know,” Stevens replied.
The certainty in his voice cracked something inside her. Relief, anger, guilt all swirled together.
“Then stop them,” she demanded. “Pull every feed. Check the raw footage. The glitch pattern alone proves manipulation.”
“I’m working on it,” Stevens said. He leaned against the table, lowering his voice. “But Mason has the Bureau behind him. He’s writing a story where you’re the traitor. We need evidence to tear it apart.”
“Then get it.”
“I will. But you need to hold your ground. One wrong move and they’ll cage you.”
Her laugh was sharp. “Have you ever known me to breathe right?”
He almost smiled, then shook his head. “Natalie will dig into the video. She’s pulling the raw streams, checking frame cadence, compression signatures, lens artifacts. If someone stitched your face in, she’ll find the seam. Emil’s digging into Jacob’s past—records, files, anyone who vouched for him. If there’s a hole, we’ll expose it.”
Alex’s stomach twisted. “I loved him, James. And I didn’t even know him.”
“Love makes poor detectives,” Stevens said softly.
“So does grief,” she whispered.
The door opened again. Natalie stormed in like a spark—hoodie, combat boots, hair pulled back, eyeliner smudged but eyes bright.
“Boss,” she said to Stevens, then to Alex: “You okay?”
“No,” Alex admitted. “But we’re going to fix it.”
“That’s my language.” Natalie grabbed the slip Stevens held out. “Case number. Perfect. I’ll yank the backend logs, not Mason’s sanitized cut. If your creds were cloned, I’ll find it.”
“Check for shadow mismatches too,” Alex added. “Edges around my outline. Whoever did this was good, but not flawless.”
Natalie grinned. “Oh, I love a challenge.” She squeezed Alex’s shoulder on her way out.
A minute later Emil filled the doorway, broad shoulders, eyes storm-dark. He didn’t waste time.
“List?” he asked Stevens.
“Academy admissions, addresses, anyone who vouched for Jacob.”
Emil nodded. “If it’s clean, it’s too clean. I’ll find what’s missing.”
He glanced at Alex. “I never liked him. Should’ve trusted my gut.”
Her throat tightened. “Better late than never.”
Emil gave a short nod and left.
When they were alone again, Stevens lowered his voice. “Listen, Alex. This will get uglier. Mason will push for arrest. The Bureau loves a villain, and right now that’s you. The only way to fight is patience.”
“I don’t have patience,” she muttered. “Not when Cortez is out there smiling.”
“Then use mine,” Stevens said simply.
An hour later Alex stepped into the corridor. Analysts stared at her like she carried a disease. Guards returned her empty holster but not her gun. Every step out of the building felt like walking through water.
Outside, rain had thinned to a silver mist. She paused on the steps, lifted her face to the damp air. The paper Mason had left still burned in her pocket: suspended, flagged, under investigation.
Somewhere out in the city, Sebastian Cortez was smiling.
“Enjoy it,” she whispered.
Because tonight she would obey their leash.
Tomorrow she would snap it.
- Writer
