The following day, at ten in the morning, FBI Atlantic City branch, a certain interrogation room.
This was a very spacious room, with an interrogation table in the center comparable in length to a conference table, and four chairs to the left for the interrogators.
On the right side of the interrogation table was an all-metal chair, welded directly to the ground, with even two iron rings underneath for securing the ankles of the person being interrogated.
At this moment, Anthony Soling was sitting in the metal chair, his right arm wrapped in gauze and slung across his chest, his ankles shackled securely, and his head wrapped in thick gauze, his eyes fixed tightly on the room's door.
Creak—
Before long, the door to the interrogation room was opened from the outside, with Chenier, Mona, Michelle, and Luo An entering one after another.
Anthony Soling didn't even glance at the three women in front; his gaze was directed at Luo An, who was at the back.
