Chapter 6 - The Precinct Interrogation Room
The interrogation room at the downtown precinct smelled of old coffee, stale tobacco, and institutional cleaning fluid. A single fluorescent tube flickered overhead, casting a harsh, cold glare across the scratched metal table where Dr. Aaron Miller sat with his hands neatly folded. His silver-gray hair remained immaculate, and his white doctor's coat hung over the back of his chair like a discarded badge of authority. He looked entirely out of place under the buzzing lights, yet his posture remained rigid, defiant, and thoroughly insulated by years of legal privilege.
Detective Morales tossed a thick folder onto the steel surface, the Manila cover slapping against the metal with a sharp snap. Inside were the duplicated prescription logs and pharmacy requisition forms I had helped compile from the foundation's private clinic.
"Your signature is on every single one of these requisitions, Doctor," Morales said, leaning forward with his forearms planted on the table. "High-dose bromperidol combined with a neuromuscular blocking agent. Administered in a residential setting without continuous monitoring or telemetry. That's not medicine. That's chemical restraint."
Miller adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, offering a cold, patronizing smile. "Medical discretion, Detective. Mr. Vance experienced acute psychotic agitation following his cardiac event. Standard hospital protocols were deemed insufficient given his unique public profile and the necessity of undisturbed rest. My treatment plan was fully authorized by executive family representatives."
"By the sister," I said from the observation alcove behind the one-way glass, my voice carrying faintly through the intercom speaker. "She signed off because you told her it was the only way to keep him pliable while the board restructured the asset portfolio."
Miller's eyes flicked toward the darkened glass, a brief flash of genuine irritation breaking through his professional veneer. "A nurse exceeding her licensing bounds by tampering with an active intravenous line does not magically rewrite medical jurisprudence. I protected this institution. When this clears, you'll lose your license, and I’ll be back running the board's health division."
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"Not this time," Morales murmured, sliding a digital tablet across the table to display a bank transfer record originating from an offshore holding account tied directly to Miller's personal NPI number. "The sister already cracked down in booking ten minutes ago. She gave up the payment structure, the delivery schedule, and your personal guarantee that Vance would never wake up with his faculties intact."
Miller stared at the tablet screen, the color finally draining from his face as the absolute reality of his situation settled in.
