The smell of McDonald’s hung in the air of the interrogation room as Patrick, a suburban dad in a quarter zip, stared across the table at the interrogation officer eating Patrick’s fries.
“I don’t understand why I’m here,” Patrick said again.
“You’re the kingpin of a huge money laundering operation,” the officer said.
“That’s ridiculous,” Patrick said. “If I thought I’d done anything, I would ask for a lawyer.”
“Listen,” the officer said, eating Patrick’s fries. “We’ve had your phone tapped for months. You go to McDonald’s every day in your green minivan and wait for your pickup order. Then you call your wife and say you’re with the squad.”
“Well, that’s a joke,” Patrick said. “It’s funny because the same guys are at that McDonald’s pickup spot every time I go. They all have the same nondescript white cars. They’re always talking to each other. I call them the squad. We’re friendly now. I’m always asking what we’re doing after this. They think it’s funny.”
It pained Patrick to watch the officer go for his McFlurry.
“Listen, we have those guys in the next room. I interviewed one a few minutes ago. His name is Pierre,” the interrogator said.
“I don’t know their names!”
“I said to Pierre, you know Patrick, the one in the green minivan. What is his involvement in the scheme?” Pierre said, ‘He’s the leader of the squad.’”
Patrick just looked dumbfounded. “What is the crime I’m being accused of?”
“Money laundering at McDonald’s.”
Patrick knew he shouldn’t. At that moment, the weight of the situation had reached him. But he couldn’t help it. He responded, “I know it looks like stealing, but I promise it’s just because I’m getting such good deals from the value menu.”