The room was designed to feel cold and empty, like the hopes of each suspect brought in there for questioning. A metal table was bolted to the floor, with two chairs on one side and one on the other. There were no windows; only the hum of bad ventilation meant only to unnerve people. And finally, a hidden camera and microphone to have proof when it mattered.
Giovanni Mattei sat alone on the single chair. His hands were folded loosely in front of him on the table. His large frame made his brooding posture look intimidating, without him doing anything. His coat had been taken, his phone bagged, but still he looked neither angry nor afraid, just patient.
Behind the see-through glass, men and women stood watching from different jurisdictions. A seal on the wall read Federal Bureau of Investigation. Another binder bore the stamp of the Manhattan District Attorney's Office. And a third, unopened, rested near the back: U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission. So the entire crew were present, all interested for different reasons.
Finally, the door opened.
Two FBI agents entered first. Plain-clothes, one older with greying hair, walked in slowly, showcasing the patience of someone who had watched more powerful men ruin themselves under his interrogation. The other was younger and looked out to score big. Behind them came a woman in a dark suit. She carried herself with composure and confidence.
"Mr Mattei," the woman started, as she took a seat. "I'm from the DA. The name's Collins. This is a joint task force inquiry. You're not under arrest."
Giovanni nodded.
"I assumed. Then let me out."
Agent Collins studied him, letting her eyes move over him and looking as though she studied him for the first time.
"You are free to leave, but that wouldn't look good. You understand why you're here, right?"
"Yes, and I also know that I asked to see my lawyer an hour ago," Giovanni replied.
"Oh, we called for... your son, who is your lawyer, but there was a mix-up. We moved you here, which caused complications. But he's on his way here, I assure you."
"That so."
"But how about we talk about why you're here? Have you seen this girl?" she asked and moved the picture of a young schoolgirl over the table.
It was the same girl Giovanni had given his umbrella to earlier today. He narrowed his eyes, looking at the picture. He nodded his head.
"I saw her earlier today."
"You were the last confirmed adult to speak with a minor who was later found dead."
"I see."
Collins pursed her lips and waited for a moment. Giovanni only looked at her without a change in expression. He knew the game, of course.
"Is there something you want to tell us?" she asked.
"Like what?"
"Like, do you know who killed her?"
"No."
The younger male agent leaned forward.
"But you know the city. You own businesses in the area. People talk to you."
"They talk to everyone. Most people don't listen," Giovanni replied calmly.
"Come now, Mr Mattei. You don't think we'll believe you, do you?" the younger one said.
Giovanni didn't answer that question. The DA representative finally spoke.
"We're not accusing you, Mr Mattei," she said carefully. "But men with your profile don't exist without a certain... shall we say structure. Without protection and without information. Do you understand where I'm coming from?"
Giovanni looked at her with the same dead expression as before.
"I run restaurants. I hate waste of words, so why don't you come out and say it?"
Collins didn't smile.
"We know you run restaurants, Mr Mattei. So did a lot of men who were buried in the eighties."
Giovanni didn't react, but his expression could be translated to 'Are you fucking serious?' Behind the glass, an FBI analyst murmured, "Nothing, Sir. Still nothing."
And he was right. They had absolutely nothing. No priors, no wire hits, no financial irregularities that crossed thresholds, no violence, nothing. Only what they thought was supposed to be there and were 100% convinced was there.
But that was the problem, they couldn't prove anything. Collins folded her hands and leaned back a bit.
"We believe," she said, "that if you didn't do this, you may know who did."
Giovanni sighed and shook his head. This wasn't the first time he was in this position. But this time, he had money, actual, real and substantial money. They couldn't act as cocky as they did last time. But there was another reason for that.
"If I did," he said, "you wouldn't need to ask."
The door opened again. This time, no agents walked through it; someone else did—a different calibre. The man walked in as the room belonged to him. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a black-and-yellow suit that did not match typical lawyer decorum. Giovanni's expression lightened up immediately after seeing his son.
Adriano Mattei.
"I'm here to see my client," he said.
The junior agent stood up right away, appalled at what he was seeing. No one barged into their interrogation, although it wasn't officially that.
"You can't just--"
"Silence, upstart. Yes, I can," Adriano replied calmly. "I represent him. And unless you plan to charge him right now with actual substantial evidence or anything else, this dialogue is over."
He dropped a folder on the table.
"Also, you're welcome," he added.
Collins frowned, and the older agent opened it, taking a look at it.
"What's this?" he asked.
"The actual killer," Adriano said. "Name's Luis Calderón. He's on parole. Has a history of opportunistic theft. He tried to grab the girl's backpack near the Atlantic Avenue stairwell. She resisted, and he pushed her. She fell unfortunate and broke her neck."
The room fell silent as the evidence presented itself before them. Adriano continued casually, like talking to first graders.
"You'll find the cell tower overlap between his phone and the victim's for twelve minutes. A reflection capture in a storefront window compensates for the broken stairwell camera. The pawn shop receipt for the phone is timestamped 19 minutes after TOD. I even highlighted the address."
Page after page, everything was as Adriano said. Collins' expression shifted from certainty to, not surprise, but irritation at how clean and factual everything was.
"Where did you get this?" she asked.
"That's my work."
"You want us to believe that you did this?" she asked.
"I dislike inefficiency," Adriano replied lazily.
Behind the glass, someone swore under their breath. Collins closed the folder and took a deep breath. The younger agent stood up, clearly angry that they hadn't even gotten started, and Adriano had already shown up.
Adriano turned to his father.
"Let's go."
Giovanni nodded and stood up. No one had the right to stop them. But as they walked out, the younger agent couldn't hold his youthful anger in anymore.
"This isn't over," he said. "Do you think we'll just let you leave like that?"
"Johnson!"
Adriano turned back slowly, as if something had just occurred to him.
"Oooh," he said lazily. "That reminds me."
He reached into his briefcase again. None of his movements was rushed. It looked like he truly remembered something just now, like someone remembering an umbrella he'd almost forgotten, or car keys.
He pulled out a thick, neatly tabbed filing and placed it gently on the edge of the table, pushing it forward with two fingers.
"This," Adriano continued pleasantly, "is a civil complaint."
The room stilled again, and the DA frowned, hearing this.
"Against whom?"
Adriano smiled.
"You," he said. "All of you."
He tapped the first page.
"Unlawful detention without probable cause. You held my client under a homicide predicate you internally acknowledged you couldn't substantiate."
Another tap.
"Interference with right to counsel. You delayed my access to see him, making me drive all around the city, despite knowing representation had been asked for and demanded."
Yet another tap.
"Reputational harm and slander. You leaked the implication of organised crime involvement to at least two inter-agency channels without an evidentiary basis."
The FBI agent's expression hardened. They hadn't expected their true purpose to be known this fast. All the while thinking that they were dealing with a young man, inexperienced in the law. But they couldn't have been more wrong.
"That's a stretch, and you know it. There is no way this will hold out in court. We had real suspicions and evidence of Mr Mattei's fingerprints on the crime scene."
Adriano tilted his head.
"On the crime scene, where? The umbrella?"
"Well--"
"Oohh, how thorough. It was my client's umbrella."
"It's still a stretch and won't do anything."
"Is it?" he asked. "Because I have timestamps, revealing emails and an invaluable analytical mind which doesn't know when to stop processing and storing information. I found all that in less than 15 minutes. What do you think I can find on all you and your cases in the next week?"
But Adriano wasn't done yet. He tapped the folder again.
"Malicious investigative overreach. You used a dead child as leverage to pressure a civilian with no criminal history, no ties, and no financial irregularities that meet federal thresholds. Your goal was to fish in the dark for anything without anything to go on but arrogance and prejudice."
He closed the folder softly.
"Oh, and abuse of process. Because now that the actual perpetrator is identified, any continued inquiry into my client becomes… how shall we say… demonstrably pretextual."
No one said anything. Adriano slid the folder a few inches closer to Collins and smiled lazily again.
"You don't need to respond now," he said kindly. "You'll be served formally within forty-eight hours."
The FBI agent stood in front of Adriano, blocking his path to the door, but all he got was an unimpressed look from the taller man.
"This isn't over," the young agent repeated. "You'd better sleep with one eye open, because I'm never giving up!"
"Ooohh, young FBI Agents are scary-nee."
Then he turned to his father.
"Shall we?"
Giovanni nodded once, smiling, relieved and impressed by his son's actions and the calm he kept throughout. Giovanni was a very calm man himself, but there were limits to that calm. He knew that if this were his father, he couldn't have kept as cool as Adriano did. They walked out together.
Behind them, the DA exhaled sharply and slapped her forehead.
"You fucking idiot," she muttered.
The older FBI agent didn't answer immediately, but it was clear that he saw it the same way. Their colleague had just been baited into issuing a threat, and killed any way to fight the lawsuit that was coming.
"I'm the idiot?! What about him?! That fucker just walked in here and took out the leader of a large branch of the mafia without you two doing anything! What are we going to do now?!" the young agent shouted.
"What the fuck are you spouting? We had nothing on him. This was a favour I did and a way to find out if our suspicions were at least something. Now, it wouldn't matter, because you couldn't keep your mouth shut."
"No," the older agent said slowly. "But it might be a good time to find out who exactly we're dealing with."
Unlike what most other successful lawyers did, Adriano had no interest or special desire to be in the limelight. Anything he wanted, he could get as simply as snapping his fingers. Money was never a problem for him, and it wouldn't ever be. Making money was as easy as breathing. And dealing with the media wasn't something he was interested in either.
At the end of the day, Adriano cared about helping others and sought a way to keep his innumerable mind busy. Life wasn't as easy as one might think for Adriano. Holding conversations with other people was similar to how speedsters felt when speaking with normal people. Only Adriano could see the most likely outcome of a dialogue before it started.
Nevertheless, his intelligence didn't stop him from forming relationships. His mother and father helped him in that regard, and it was his mother who pushed him to develop intellectually and socially. She was the one who came closest to understanding what her son was having to deal with each day when he chose to get out of bed.
Adriano lived in a world of goldfish.