chapter 3
1122 Words
Peter’s POV
The cold bite of the cuffs around my wrist was nothing compared to the f*****g weight on my
shoulder.
I kept my eyes ahead as the officers shoved me into the back of the van. The camera was
flashing like lightning, voices mixed up in a frenzy, and reporters were already on the scene
trying to get the best scoop on the story.
But I didn't flinch, not once.
I wasn't scared of the NYPD, no, I was scared because a lot was going to happen and I guess I
was the fall guy.
I remembered her face, how scared she looked but I also knew how stubborn she was. She was
not going to take my warnings and run far away.
She was going to do anything to get the truth and that might be the end of her.
The van slammed hard against me, as it pulled me into its depths of darkness. My heart slowed
down as my mind sharpened.
I look around the van. This was a place I never expected to find myself in.
The NYPD thought they finally got their hands on me but they were wrong.
This was just for play and I was the star of the f*****g show.
****************************
At the station, they dragged me into a grey-walled interrogation room. It had a single table, two
chairs, and a mirrored wall.
That's just cliché and predictable.
I took my seat as they uncuffed me only to chain my wrist to the table. I flexed my fingers while I
studied the room.
A man who looked like he was in his mid-40s walked up to me. He was carrying a huge file
which he slammed on the table, trying to scare me.
I smirked….
They would have to do more than that to scare me.
“Peter Noah….” He called my name slowly, like he was tasting the waters, “Billionaire,
Philanthropist, investor, the golden boy” he leaned in closer “and to add to the list,.......a murder
suspect.”
I smiled but said nothing.
He returned it, as he pulled out pictures of Charles Joe's dead body. His body was crumpled in a
pool of blood, his eyes were lifeless as they stared at the ceiling.
He shoved the images towards me, “Do you know him?” He asked
“Not too well but I have met him publicly on a few occasions,” I responded.
“ahhhh…Publicly? So why were your fingerprints found at his house?”
My eyes flickered to the photos, then back to him but I did not reply, not because I didn't want to
but because I had no idea what they were talking about.
His pen tapped against the table, “You were seen with him two nights ago before he died and
witnesses confirmed that you were at his office just this morning, and yet here you are saying
otherwise.,....”
I tilted my head but my lips were f*****g sealed.
The detective leaned back, his chair creaking, “Do you think silence would save you? Or maybe
money, your name? Do you think you are untouchable?” His voice hardened, “You are a finished
man, Noah, finished.”
We sat in silence. One said a word. I knew he was trying to break me but he got to do more than
that.
Just then the door swung open and Oliver walked in. He was wearing a black pair of jeans and
a shirt, which didn't make him look like a lawyer one bit.
“Finally…” I said under my breath, and the middle-aged man gave me a side eye.
“Detective,” Oliver said smoothly, his voice carrying the kind of authority only years in the
courtroom could give. “My client won’t be answering any more of your questions. In fact, he
shouldn't be subjected to this circus show in the first place.”
The detective scowled, “This isn't a circus show, Mr….”
“Oliver Barnes….”
“Oliver Barnes.” The detective repeated, “Well, Mr Barnes, we have enough to hold him here
and open an investigation.”
Oliver leaned forward, his voice lowering enough to sting, “No, you don't. Do you have to open a
damn investigation? Yes but not to keep him here. If you did, you wouldn't be playing games
with photographs and trying to land a false accusation. You have got the smoke but there is no
fire and the district attorney isn't going to sign off on detaining one of the most high-profile men
in Texas without something solid…”
I could see the detective’s jaw tighten.
Just then the radio on his shirt buzzed, after a short exchange, he looked back at Oliver with
pure frustration written on his face.
“Fine, he is free to go, for now.”
He uncuffed me, the marks on my wrist were red as cherries but I didn't rub them. I slowly rose,
unbuttoned my jacket with a confidence that irked them.
I looked back at the detective. His face told me all I needed to know.
He was pissed. He hates that they were not able to pin me down.
“Don't get too cocky, Peter, you might still be back here soon.”
I gave him a little smile, “I highly doubt.”
********************************
Outside the station, the night air was colder. The press had been shoved back by barricades,
their cameras flashing like angry stars.
Oliver guided me past them, his presence was like a shield. We slipped into a black car that was
waiting by the curb. When the doors were shut, it muted the chaos.
Oliver let out a sigh, “So, you want to tell what the f**k that was about?”
I leaned back, staring out the window as the car drove away, “It was a setup…”
He paused, “By who?”
I turned to him, my voice low, “The Widow…”
His eyes widened “That's not a name you say lightly dude…and I thought you’ve left this spy
bullshit behind?”
“I thought I did….”
“Do you know who they are or…” he asked and I shook my head.
“The Widowed organization popped up a few years ago when I had already gone clean and
opened my company…”
“So, we are fighting a losing battle?” He asked
I just remained quiet.
“This is crazy…” he finally said.
Just then a beeping sound came from Oliver's phone, he turned to me, “Someone is trying to
get into my server.”
At that moment, we froze.
- Writer
