Two men, dressed in suits, walked into the interrogation room. They took a seat at the table. One of them lit up a cigarette and extended his hand to the woman on the other side. 

She continued, “There were only two things in the world that Oroville Sutton cared about: his family, and his mountain magic—that’s what he called it anyway. Truth be told, he was a Cook, and a damn good one, too. One of the best, as a matter of fact. Folk from all over the world came to buy his concoctions, and they paid good money for them too, because his wares were immeasurable to the competition.” 

She reached for a glass of water, trying to calm her shaky hand.

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“Only problem was that once word spread of how good his stuff was, the Feds caught wind of it and began a five-year investigation—which they haven’t been able to crack since. See, Oroville Sutton was a smart man that came from a long line of Cooks, or Alchemists as socialized folk would call them. Knowledge was passed down over many generations, of not only the famous recipes that garnered the Sutton family their prestige, but about how to avoid the long arm of the law as well. Too many families in the surrounding hollers of West Virginia were careless and drove themselves under for not being cautious enough. Oroville made a vow long ago to protect his family, and he wasn’t about to let the same happen to him and his.” 

She looked away, collecting her thoughts.

“Because he loved his family more than anything. He loved them more than his legacy.” Finding her resolve once again, she gazed into their eyes. “Loved them even more than his mountain magic.”