The hiss of the magnetic locks disengaging was the sound of a guillotine being released. It was a clean, final sound that cut through Julian’s panicked breathing. The heavy, reinforced glass door swung inward, and the sterile air of the negotiation suite was flooded with the scent of wool, leather, and federal authority.
Two men and a woman entered first, their movements economical and devoid of emotion. They wore dark blue windbreakers with "FBI" emblazoned in stark yellow letters across their backs. They didn't look at me. Their entire focus, a trinity of professional gravity, landed on Julian.
He was a statue carved from fear. The predatory confidence he wore like a second skin had evaporated, leaving behind a pale, hollowed-out man whose bespoke suit suddenly looked two sizes too lar
