Ira was already in the interrogation room with William by the time Graham decided to enter. It was one of those stereotypical interrogation rooms that are often shown in movies: A single metal table, dingy lights, and a one-way mirror. Perched on a small tripod on the table was a video camera. Graham could feel the eyes of the room pin daggers on him as he walked toward his seat on the table - not only from William and Ira, but also from Captain Dara, who Graham knew was watching this with interest behind the glass.

"Mr. Wolfe," Graham said, placing his bag on the table, "I must first ask you to please confirm in front of the camera that you have been read your rights and that you have not been harmed or coerced in any way, shape or form."

"Don't answer," chimed in Ira, leaning on the table. "This whole thing has been a travesty from the start. First of all, you entered my client's home while he was away? You never attempted to exhaust all your resources before deciding to enter my client's home without his express will. He has nothing to hide, and would've been more than glad to cooperate in any shape or form. The search warrant was requested by your Captain herself, making sure to expedite the process, skipping over all the legal hoops, and not to mention all your evidence is both circumstantial and outright far-fetched. This whole thing is a shit show, and I'm sure any judge would think the same."

Graham remained silent, not even acknowledging Ira as he maintained eye contact with William, slouched over to appear smaller than he was.

"I'm afraid we have more than probable cause to enter your residence. This isn't looking good for you, William. Your best bet is to cooperate, and I'll make sure the DA gives you some leniency."

"Don't say anything," complained Ira. "They got nothing."

Graham took a laptop and the case files out of his bag, putting them in front of William.

"Let me tell you a story. Feel free to stop me if you heard it before. A man is constantly berated by his boss. You know, demeaning nicknames, psychological abuse, all that jazz. One day, the man puts a project in front of his boss that took weeks to ensemble - his big break, the one that's gonna give him a seat on the big boy's table, and his boss tears him and the project to shreds. The man gets angry, maybe gets under the influence of some narcotic, and decides-"

"This is ludicrous! Are you implying my client is somehow a drug addict?" says Ira.

"I once made an omelet but that doesn't make me a chef. I'm just pointing out that Mr. Wolfe has a criminal history that involves narcotics. Were you aware of that?"

Ira went silent, his eyes jolting open like a deer's when caught in a headlight. Shutting him up was the most satisfying moment in Graham's day so far.

"I suppose your client has not been as forthcoming as you thought, Mr. Loophole. Let's see..." said Graham while combing through his notes. "Valentine's Day, 2014, Times Square. Arrested for public indecency. Was found in possession of Marijuana, which was also found in his urine when a test was conducted. Quite a hefty fine you got from that. Care to explain that?"

This time, Ira didn't object, staring at William for answers. William's eyes darted all around the room for help, but none was given to him.

"I, em...Was studying in NYU. Freshman. Freshman year that is, and um... My boyfriend at that time dumped me. Some friends invited me to a party and I-"

"I get it," interrupted Graham, "you were depressed, you wanted to unwind, why not take a hit or two? And somehow or another you found yourself standing in the middle of Times Square, butt naked, with nothing but your glasses and your satchel, and a pair of nipple tassels? Is that correct? According to the report, at least."

William buried his face in his arms, beet red from embarrassment.

"Don't worry;" said Graham with his sweetest tone, "we all make mistakes. I did some stupid stuff when I was a kid. That just means you're emotional."

"Don't comment on that," said Ira.

Despite being told otherwise, William nodded softly.

"See? Nothing to be ashamed of. Thing is, you have a history of narcotics abuse tied to your emotional state."

"That is purely a conjecture! It was only that one time."

"Was it, though?" asked Graham with the biggest lopsided smile he could muster. "Because when we searched Mr. Wolfe's apartment, we found a few dime-bags of Marijuana, alongside a glass pipe with signs of use. If we were to make a toxicology analysis of your blood, or even a urine test, what would we find?"

William was trembling now, looking smaller than he had ever been. Ira whispered something in his ear, having a back-and-forth conversation in that same manner. After a few minutes, Ira composed himself, patting William on the back for assurance.

"I... Smoke to control my nerves. I'm a very anxious person and it just calms me. Makes me more grounded. Without it, I just... shut down."

"I must remind you that my client is not doing anything illegal under Massachusetts' laws," said Ira.

"Of course," said Graham, scribbling down the information on his notepad. "How many times a day do you consume?"

"Don't answer that," ordered Ira.

"Fine, let's continue," said Graham without skipping a beat. " So, you were humiliated, you had a puff of your one-hitter to get you through the day, and you had an idea. A wicked idea. You took a pair of pliers-"

"Those pliers aren't mine!" cried William, showing some uproar for the first time in the interrogation.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," said Ira, putting a hand on William's chest. "What pliers? What are you talking about?"

"I think Mr. Wolfe here knows exactly what we're talking about," said Graham, taking a small plastic bag with a pair of pliers in them. "See, forensics figured out that the breaks of the car Mrs. Geber was driving had been cut with a pair of pliers. When we conducted a search of Mr. Wolfe's resident, what do we find? A pair of pliers with brake fluid on them."

"I'm telling you, those pliers ain't mine!" said William.

"Did you steal them, then?" asked Graham, leaning closer to him.

"No! They're just... not mine."

"Do you deny having seen them before?"

"Don-" Ira tried to say, but William was on an impulsive roll.

"No! I mean, yes, I've seen them, but I have nothing to do with them. I just found them in my satchel and-"

"That's enough!" yelled Ira, grabbing William by the arm. "Stop talking, boy!"

"There's no use in denying it. Your fingerprints are all over them, and now we have established that you were aware of the pliers being in your home and that you handled them."

Ira pounded his right fist on the table. He looked like he wanted to say something, but bit back his tongue - William had dug his own grave.

"So, you took that pair of pliers, thought it was a good idea to cut your boss' brakes-"

"You are now directly accusing my client of murder. Be careful with your next words."

"I'm not accusing, I'm pointing out."

Graham powered the laptop, bringing a white glow to the room. Opening a file reading "Wolfe, W", he played the security footage video.

"As you can see in this video, Mr. Wolfe is seen approaching Mr. White's car, disappearing under the car for approximately 3 minutes."

"The picture is too grainy to confirm that the man in the video is my client or not."

"Keep watching."

The video kept going, moving from the entrance all the way to the elevator. The whole time, the look on Ira's deflated from serious defiance to frustrated despair. He adjusted his glasses, rubbing a handkerchief on his sweaty forehead.

"We also have an affidavit confirming that the man seen was Mr. Wolfe. Actually, we have multiple witnesses attesting to that. So, I ask: do you deny being the man shown on the security footage? I'm giving you a chance to defend yourself."

Ira approached William's ear again, having a shorter conversation this time. William took a deep breath, steeling his nerves. "I was smoking. I chose a dark spot to vape before going to the party. I was anxious and needed a breather. I waited outside for a group to enter and blended with them. Look, I get anxious, okay? Just imagining me entering alone with all these people watching was giving me the hibbie-jibbies. I swear."

"Of course, I want to believe you. But there is also the issue with your testimony."

"My client hasn't provided any faulty testimony," said Ira. "Not today, nor ever. He's as transparent as he can be under these circumstances."

William started to fidget in his seat. He knew he had fucked up.

And Graham was about to savor it.

"The operative word there is 'today'. I had previously interrogated Mr. Wolfe on another issue, and let's say that things don't add up. Let's see the tape."

Graham opened a different file reading "White, H" which contained another video.

"Now, I always tape my interviews on my trusty recorder. I have here a transcript of the tape, which, of course, you're free to review. Let's read it first before playing the video, shall we? And I quote: 'On the night of the accident, I escorted Mrs. Geber to her floor. She felt unwell and dizzy, at one point using me for support. She insisted she was fine and left for her room. Less than a minute later, she ran from her room towards the elevators and took one going down. After that, Mr. White came out of the room, physically assaulting me - me being you here - and ran to the stairs.' Is this correct?"

"Y-yes," stuttered William, taken aback by the sudden question.

"But, that contradicts this video."

Hitting play, the screen flashed a clear image of the floor in which Henry's room was located. A camera in front of the elevators shows William and Zizi stepping out of the elevator, followed by Zizi falling to the floor, getting a bit out of frame. William ran to her, now completely out of frame.

The next angle shows Zizi walking in the hallway, appearing on the right side and disappearing on the left. A few seconds later, she is seen running back from where she was, going into the elevator, as William had said. What happened next, however, was quite different.

The next shot is William entering another elevator, alone, with no Mr. White assaulted him as he had previously stated. After a few minutes, Henry appears from inside the elevator - not running towards it - and running towards the hallway in the same directions Zizi was initially walking to. After a few minutes, he is seen running back towards the elevators, disappearing behind one as it closes. The video stopped there.

"Now, can you explain the discrepancies between your testimony and the evidence?"

William and Ira went pale, with a still silence falling into the room like a blanket. Graham tried his best to suppress his grin, with little to no avail. He was just too damn happy.

"Can you give me a few minutes with my client?" asked Ira, surprisingly meek.

"Sure, take all the time you want," answered Graham, standing up from his seat while turning off the camera.

The atmosphere outside the interrogation room was fresh and warm. Graham felt the fresh air enter his lungs, as well as something sweeter: victory.

Captain Dará appeared from the adjacent room, the one behind the one-way glass, clapping slowly and dramatically with a grin from ear to ear.

"Dunne, ya made my fuckin' day, ya beautiful bastard. After the whole dead-girl screw-up, this is yer redemption."

Graham's heart filled with pride, and anger. Even when he was proving his worth, the shadow of his previous screw-up still reared its ugly head to remind him of his failure. "It wasn't just a dead girl. Her name was Tracy."

A name she would never forget. The name of his failure - of the life he had failed to save.

"Same difference," said the Captain, grabbing Graham into a half-hug. "Get in there an' nail this for me. If ya do that, I'll nail ya...a brand new cruiser, an' a bump in pay-grade."

Graham felt adrenaline pumping through his blood, licking his lips in anticipation. No more subway tickets getting damaged, no more drafty stations, no more weird people calling him racial slurs while waiting for a bus. Total freedom at last.

He peaked again into the room, with both William and Ira sitting completely still.

"Are you done?" asked Graham, smiling widely.

Ira maintained his composure, but William was starting to lose it. His hands were shaking and his eyes darted from one corner to the room to the other.

"Of course, but I'm afraid we're done. My Client has decided to exercise his right to remain silent."

Bingo.

"Sorry about your loss, Mr. White. I was there that day. The site of the crash, I mean. Nobody deserves to have their lives turn to shit like that."

Officer Klein's condolences fell on deaf ears. Henry was lost in the distance, gazing at the horizon as the Boston skyline zipped past them.

"You know, I gotta thank you. I served two tours in Afghanistan. I saw some pretty nasty stuff, things that would've messed with my mind if it weren't for your drug. Thanks to it, I put my shit together, got married, and even bought a house."

Again, Henry was silent.

"So...um...Thanks, is what I'm trying to say."

"Stop," muttered Henry.

"Sorry?"

"Please... Stop."

"Stop what, honey?"

"Just, stop."

Officer Klein obliged, parking his cruiser on the side of the street.

"Everything good, Mr. White?"

Henry could not understand why he felt so cold. It was different from his panic attacks. It wasn't that his blood was running cold or anything. It was as if he was standing in a void. A cold nothing. He could not feel the seatbelt on his chest. He could not feel the seat under him. Nothing.

"Stop," he muttered again.

"We already stopped."

The only thing Henry could feel was his mind. Light. Free. Unburdened.

"Where do you want to go, honey?"

"Mur."

"Mur? Where is that, Mr. White?"

Henry didn't know why he wanted to go to Murray's, although he felt he already knew the answer deep inside. It was on the tip of his tongue. He only needed to open his mouth, and the answer would appear.

"Divorce," said Henry, speaking automatically.

"He won't tell you anything. Go home."

"Please, leave me here. I'll walk the rest of the road."

"You sure? I was ordered to leave your home. And it's pretty far from here. I heard it was gonna snow pretty bad today."

"Please," he repeated, "Leave me here."

"You are wasting your time, honey. Sure, Mr. White"

6 HOUR BEFORE THE DISASTER