Chapter 7: The Interrogation Room
The sterile white walls of the precinct interrogation room seemed to close in around Julian Vance, though he wore his arrogance like an expensive suit. He sat across the metal table from Detective Miller, a seasoned investigator with tired eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor. Julian’s tuxedo was immaculate once again—he had clearly changed before the police arrived at his estate—and his hair was slicked back with practiced precision. He crossed his legs, offering a tight, patronizing smile as he spoke of wild accusations, disgruntled former employees, and malicious lies spread by mentally unstable individuals. He insisted that Toby had merely been playing a game in a restricted storage area and that the scratches on Eleanor’s face were the result of a tragic accidental fall down the grand staircase.
Detective Miller did not blink. He slid a photograph across the metal table. It was a close-up of the heavy black padlock and the interior of the metal wall vent, alongside forensic shots of the dusted fingerprints found on the latch. He then placed a printed medical report detailing Toby’s chronic malnourishment and psychological trauma from prolonged isolation. Julian’s smug expression faltered for a fraction of a second, a microscopic twitch of his jaw betraying his internal panic before he quickly masked it behind feigned outrage. He demanded to speak with his corporate attorneys, threatening the detective with lawsuits, defamation suits, and career-ending political pressure. Miller simply leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, and informed Julian that federal child endangerment charges were non-negotiable.
Outside the interrogation room, Eleanor Vance sat on a hard plastic chair in the hallway, looking small and fragile in a plain beige trench coat that replaced her glittering gold beaded evening gown. The bloody scratch on her cheek was covered by a small white bandage. She stared blankly at the linoleum floor, the weight of her complicity crushing her spirit. She had traded her conscience for luxury, allowing Julian to dictate the rules of their gilded prison until the walls literally caved in on them. A female officer handed her a cup of paper-cup water, but Eleanor didn't touch it. She knew her husband’s empire was built on sand, and once the full investigation into Vance Industries’ offshore accounts and dark secrets began, nothing would ever save them from the wreckage.
