The Interrogation

The humiliation, fear, and shame I'd felt at the beginning of the interview dissolved over the course of the hour. Eventually I became numb to the investigators' questions. My confessions made my mouth dry. I only wanted it to end, and when it finally did my only concern was what the punishment would be. Would I be immediately hauled off to prison in front of my coworkers? Did my boss know I was being questioned by the FBI? Would I lose my job? How would I tell my family and boyfriend?

At the end of the interrogation, I asked what came next. The woman in the houndstooth jacket explained that their investigation would take several months, the time needed for their specialists to analyze my computer, after which they'd contact me. She opened her wallet to fish out a business card and inside I noticed a picture of her children, a young boy and girl.

We rode the elevator down to the parking garage, all the while making small talk about the weather and about our plans for Thanksgiving. From the trunk of an unmarked car, the woman in the houndstooth jacket produced some papers which she asked me to sign. Once I'd returned the pen, the two women thanked me for my cooperation, told me not to leave the country. Then they got in the car and drove away.