So Broken by Blake Pierce

So Broken by Blake Pierce

Author:Blake Pierce [Pierce, Blake]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-02-14T16:00:00+00:00


CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Horizon Intelligence looked like a business that had gone bankrupt. The parking lot was full of dust and debris, and the shrubs that lined the sidewalks were overgrown and haphazard. The building was dirty as well, the windows filmy and the concret covered in cobwebs and droppings.

The interior was no better. A dejected receptionist sat behind a desk covered in stacks of paperwork. Stains covered the tile floor, and the decorative fountain in the middle of the lobby was bone dry.

The receptionist didn’t even bother to greet the agents as they walked up. It wasn’t until Faith spoke that the young woman even acknowledged their presence. “Good afternoon. I’m Special Agent Faith Bold. This is my partner, Special Agent Michael Prince, and my K9 unit, Turk. We need to speak with Guthrie Henderson.”

The receptionist didn’t seem at all surprised that FBI agents were here to see the CEO. Faith wondered how many other government agencies had arrived to interview him over the past year. “I’ll let him know you’re on your way up. He’s the only office on the fifth floor.”

“His office is the entire fifth floor?” Michael asked.

“Yep,” the receptionist replied in an exceptionally bored tone. She dialed the number and when she hung up, she said, “Go ahead. He’s waiting for you.”

Faith and Michael exchanged a look with each other and headed for the elevator. The receptionist called after them, “The elevator doesn’t work. You’ll have to take the stairs.”

They looked at each other again and headed for the stairs. Turk snorted, and Faith said, “I couldn’t agree more.”

As promised, Guthrie Henderson waited for them in his office, which, as also promised, did indeed take up the entire fifth floor. Faith stared incredulously at the opulent room, which sported three fish tanks, a massive tv screen, a full kitchen and a desk that stretched a full fifteen feet.

Guthrie himself was as drab as his office was garish. He was a short balding man who looked strikingly like a ten-years-older version of Peter Olivera. He looked up at the agents and said, “All right. What is it this time?”

“Done this before, huh?” Michael asked.

“SEC, FTC, FBI, ATF, and about a dozen Senate and Congressional investigatory arms. You have a blow-by-blow account of every shit I’ve taken in the past ten years, so what could you possibly want from me now?”

“We’d like to know if you’re a serial killer,” Faith said.

Guthrie’s eyes snapped up to her. “What?”

“We’re here investigating the murders of Geoff Murray, Barrett Jones, and Gabriel Duke.”

“Gabe’s dead?”

“As a doornail,” Michael said, “and we think you might have had something to do with it.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“We don’t kid.”

Guthrie stared between the two of them. Then he chuckled, an anxious and bitter laugh. "Jesus. It just keeps getting better. All right. Let's talk then. Can we talk here, or is this a 'you have the right to remain silent' thing?"

“At the moment, no,” Faith replied. “We can start the conversation here, and if we feel there’s a reason to continue it somewhere else, we’ll make that call later.



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