Chapter 4 - The Interrogation Room Confession
The fluorescent lights of the precinct interrogation room hummed with a sterile, soul-crushing intensity. Diane Vance sat at the metal table, her silk robe replaced by an orange jumpsuit, her hair disheveled without salon styling. Across from her sat Detective Vance—no relation, thankfully—and me, observing through the one-way mirror.
'You have no right to keep me here past morning,' Diane snapped, slamming her cuffed hands onto the table. 'My lawyer is filing an emergency writ of habeas corpus. Ethan! I know you're out there watching! Show your face, you ungrateful coward!'
I didn't flinch. I kept my arms crossed, watching her sweat.
Detective Miller opened a manila folder, sliding a stack of printed financial statements across the table. 'Mrs. Vance, let's talk about the eighty thousand dollars transferred from your son's engineering account into your personal shell corporation last Tuesday.'
Diane scoffed, tossing her head back. 'That was reimbursement! Ethan owes me for raising him, for putting him through college, for managing his life! As the matriarch of the family, I distribute funds as I see fit.'
'That's not how joint marital assets or engineering contracts work, ma'am,' Detective Miller replied smoothly. 'Furthermore, your son's wife was left without medical supplies, heat, or food while recovering major abdominal surgery. That elevates this from simple financial theft to felony endangerment.'
Diane's eyes flashed with venom. 'That girl is a parasite! She trapped my son with an accidental pregnancy to lock down his inheritance! She deserved to sleep on the floor! If Ethan had any spine, he would have dumped her months ago!'
Inside the observation room, my grip on the window ledge tightened until my knuckles turned white. Emily, sitting beside me holding our baby, let out a soft, heartbroken sob.
'She hates me so much,' Emily whispered, rocking the baby gently. 'Even now, locked in a cell, she still blames me for existing.'
'She blames anyone who threatens her control,' I said, kissing Emily's forehead. 'Watch this next part.'
On the interrogation room monitor, Detective Miller leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. He didn't yell. He simply pushed a laptop forward and hit play.
The room filled with audio from the security cameras installed in our apartment. Specifically, the conversation from three days ago where Diane and Claire laughed while loading our furniture into the moving truck.
'Let her sleep on the floor! She's a gold-digger who trapped my son with a pregnancy test!' Diane's voice boomed from the laptop speakers in crystal-clear high definition.
Diane froze. The arrogant smirk vanished from her face, replaced by a sudden, pale realization. 'Where... where did you get that?'
'Your son installed smart-home security systems for federal facilities, Mrs. Vance,' Detective Miller said quietly. 'Every room in that apartment recorded every word you spoke. Every malicious act. Every intentional deprivation.'
Diane stared at the screen, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. For the first time in her life, the great matriarch realized her web of lies had just been shredded by digital evidence she couldn't spin away.
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'I want my lawyer,' Diane whispered, her voice cracking.
'Your lawyer is going to have a very difficult time explaining away federal wire fraud and conspiracy,' Detective Miller said, standing up. 'Enjoy your morning, Mrs. Vance.'
