The FBI building looks like a prison with better lighting.Vanessa walks ahead of me. Heels clicking on marble. Hair perfect. Suit expensive. She looks like she owns the place instead of being a witness in a federal investigation."Stop staring," she says without turning around."Stop looking like you're about to betray us.""If I was going to betray you, I would have done it in the mountains. Alone. With a shovel.""Charming.""I'm not here to be charming. I'm here to put my father in prison."We stop at a metal detector. A guard checks my bag. My phone. My recorder."No electronics beyond this point.""I'm a journalist.""You're a visitor. Leave it here."I hand over my phone. My recorder. My dignity.Vanessa smirks. "First time?""Shut up."---The conference room is small. Gray walls. Gray table. Gray faces.Two agents sit across from us. Agent Morrison — fifty, grey hair, grey suit, grey eyes. Agent Park — thirty, sharp, watching everything."Miss Thompson." Morrison doesn't stan
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