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“How about everyone sit back down?” Ryan suggested, trying to sound casual despite the tension in the room.

“How about you tell your lady friend not to cast aspersions on my character?” Forrester shot back as droplets of sweat magically appeared on his forehead.

“How about you answer the question I asked instead of acting like a pouty little schoolgirl?” Jessie demanded.

“Ms. Hunt,” Ryan said, his tone calm but his eyes intense, “let’s turn the temperature down and give Mr. Forrester a chance to answer your question.”

It was clear that he thought she’d pushed too hard, to the point of being counterproductive. And maybe he was right. She realized that she’d become less interested in studying his body language as he squirmed at her questions and more intent on getting him to make a mistake that would let her take him down.

Her nerve endings were jangling and she felt a strong desire to punch the man in the throat but she did her best to ignore, pretended like nothing was amiss, and sat back down. Forrester reluctantly followed suit.

“So where were we?” Ryan asked.

Jessie was happy to remind him.

“Mr. Forrester was about to explain why Marcus Vega backed out of their deal.”

The man, his face returning to a shade of bright pink, sighed exhaustedly.

“It was the fight that I got into a half dozen years ago,” he said. “he told me his bosses couldn’t risk doing such a big deal with someone who might punch one of them if things got hairy.”

“Didn’t they do the research on you before that point?” Ryan asked.

“They’re not the police,” Forrester replied. “I’ve done a good job of making that stuff hard to find unless you’re really looking. I tried to explain to Vega that there’s a context to everything, but he told me that it was out of his hands. The decision had been made.”

“Was there a context to you attacking Vega in the paper?” Jessie wanted to know, before adding. “I noticed that you didn’t mention the reason he backed out, that it was his boss’s decision. You just attacked his character. I also noticed that he didn’t attack you back.”

“So you’re on his side now?” Forrester asked, “the guy who cost me millions of dollars?”

Jessie looked over at Ryan to see if they were on the same page going forward. Despite the dustup earlier, his little nod indicated that they were. So she dropped the bomb.

“We’re on the side of anyone whose murder we’re investigating,” she said simply.

For a second, Forrester didn’t respond.

“Wait, what?” he said, either stunned or “stunned.” She couldn’t decide which.

“You weren’t aware that his wife was murdered last night?” she asked.

“I had no idea,” he insisted. “Why didn’t you lead with that? Wait—do you think that I killed his wife? Over some financial spat? You can’t be serious. I didn’t even know her.”

“We’re just doing our due diligence,” Ryan told him. “Is there a reason we should think that?”

“I didn’t kill anyone,” Forrester said forcefully, the beads of sweat now dripping down past his temples. “I didn’t even know it happened, I swear. When did she die?”

“That’s a good question,” Jessie said. “Where were you between 6 p.m. and 8 p.m. last night?”

Forrester thought about it briefly.

“I was at my spa,” he said, sounding relieved that he potentially had an alibi. “I like to go there to decompress after work some nights. I spent some time in the sauna and the steam room. I showered there too.”

“So,” Jessie said, certain that Ryan was thinking the same thing as her, “theoretically, you could have left your phone in locker at the spa so that it seemed like you were there, then gone somewhere else.”

“I didn’t do that!” he shouted, his face immediately darkening again.

"Okay," she said, moving on as if she'd barely heard his objection, "where were you on Sunday night between nine and eleven?"

“Why?”

“We’re just trying to get out of your hair here, Mr. Forrester,” Ryan said, convincing no one. The quicker you provide us with answers, the better for everyone.”

“Really?” he asked, “because this is starting to feel like harassment.”

Once more he rose to his feet, huffing deeply.

"Is there a reason you are standing up again rather than calmly answering our questions?" Jessie tweaked.

She could feel her blood starting to pump faster again and was tempted to get to her feet too. She noted that the man seemed to lose self-control when pushed even a little bit. That could lead to a verbal mistake or a physical one. She was fine with either.

“I was home on Sunday,” he said slowly, clearly forcing himself not to take her bait.

“Was anyone with you?” Ryan asked.

Forrester’s face sank into a mix of doubt and anger.

“I’m divorced twice over, man,” he said. “I’ve learned to enjoy my ‘me’ time in the privacy of my own home.”

“Where is home?” Jessie asked.

“I live in the Hollywood Hills.”

“Marcus Vega lived there too,” she said.

“I know,” he replied. “he told me that before turned into a snak—before the deal fell apart.”

The fact that he couldn’t stop maligning Vega, even after his wife’s death, was lost on no one.

“So you know where he lives,” Jessie pointed out.

“Yeah, I know,” he conceded, “but I’ve never been there.”

“Not even a drive-by to stare daggers at the home of the man who screwed you over?” she wondered.

“Not even that.”

“Are you willing to give us access to the GPS data on your phone and car to verify that?” Ryan asked.

“I’m willing to give you the phone number for my lawyer,” Forrester said. “You can ask him for that stuff formally.”

“So you’re not willing to cooperate?” Jessie asked.

“I have been cooperating,” he told her, agitated, “but it looks like I need to protect myself too.”

“Let me ask you, Mr. Forrester,” she said, “do you still use the same criminal lawyer from your other incidents, or have you changed it up?”

At that, Forrester turned to face his window. Jessie wasn’t sure what he was planning and started to stand up in preparation of whatever came next. But before she could, Ryan gently put his hand on her forearm and shook his head. It took her a moment to understand why.

Forrester was inhaling and exhaling slowly. He appeared to be engaging in some deep breathing exercises in an attempt to remain calm. After several seconds of that, he spoke, still looking out the window.

“I didn’t have anything to do with Vega’s wife’s death,” he said firmly. “The GPS data will show you that. But you’ll have to go through the proper channels to see for sure. I don’t know if that means getting a subpoena or what. In the meantime, unless you plan to arrest me, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I’ve got millions of dollars to make today. I’ve got to earn back what Vega cost me.”

Ryan gave Jessie a look that suggested he thought they were at a dead end, but she decided to take one more shot at egging Forrester into a mistake.

“You know,” she said quietly, “if you were really doing as well as you say, I would have figured you’d have a nicer workplace and more employees. It’s hard not to think renting this tiny office in a big, fancy tower is just a front to hide how poorly you’re actually doing. It feels a little like you’re a fake.”

Jessie saw his whole body tense up and she thought she might finally have pushed him to the breaking point.

“It feels a little like you’re a bitch,” he replied calmly, still not looking at her, “but I would never say that because I’m a gentleman.”

Now Ryan stood up and indicated that she should do the same. It was clear to him, as it was to her, that while Forrester might make disparaging remarks, he wasn’t going to implicate himself, at least not here and now.

“We’ll be in touch,” Ryan said. “In the meantime, don’t leave town.”

Jessie’s efforts to trip Forrester up had failed, but they had worked in another way, one that she didn’t love. As they left his office, her insides churned. She had a strong desire to turn back around, and body slam him into his window so hard that he crashed through onto the street twenty-six floors below. It required all of her self-control to keep walking.