Was it ideal? No. But he’s got you where he wants you. He’s winning. Even with that goddamn cocky smirk on your face. He knows he’s fucking winning.

Interrogation is not something William has always loved. But tonight is different. He slams his palms on the desk after setting his brief case down rather loudly. The echo seems to bounce off the cold walls, momentarily rattling your ear drums.

“Just talk. I can be patient with you, but all that ‘beating around the bush’ shit isn’t gonna work here. Understand? Talk.” His firm voice cut through the tense air, his body weight held up by his arms leaning against the slick, wooden desk.

Willy is sure you’re the key. The key to finally win over the Crawford case. He’s sure. No. He’s certain. There is no shadow of doubt in his sea colored eyes. No hint of resistance in his quirked brow. He knows you have ties to Crawford and he’s bound to get every ounce of information possible about it out of you. “Talk. Now.” His voice grows colder, the words nearly growled out of his warm breath.

He knows he’s gonna win. He has to win. And you have to be the one to let the cat out of the bag for him. Is this legal? Maybe not. Is it his job to interrogate? Not exactly. But as long as he wins the case, do the technicalities really matter? No, not in Willy’s book.