Chapter 4 - Whispers in the Dark
The harsh glow of the interrogation room lamp beat down on the scarred metal table, casting long, menacing shadows across Julian’s face. He sat with his hands neatly folded in front of him, though his fingers twitched with nervous energy. Outside the two-way mirror, the faint hum of the police precinct buzzed with activity, a constant reminder that his carefully constructed world of wealth and prestige was actively crumbling into dust.
The door clicked open, and Detective Vance walked in, tossing a thick manila folder onto the table with a sharp thud.
"Your wife isn't talking, Mr. Vance," Vance said, pulling out a chair and sitting down heavily across from Julian. "She’s sitting in holding cell B, staring at the wall, refusing a lawyer, and repeating just one phrase over and over again: 'He’s going to kill us all.'"
Julian scoffed, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated display of exhaustion and frustration.
"She needs psychiatric help, Detective, not a prison cell," Julian said, shaking his head with manufactured disappointment. "I've tried covering for her mental health struggles for years. This is the tragic result of ignoring her severe condition."
Vance leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table and narrowing his eyes until they were mere slits.
"Is that why your financial records show a massive wire transfer of two million dollars to an offshore account registered under Clara’s maiden name, dated just twenty-four hours before the attack?" Vance asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous, icy whisper.
Julian’s meticulously maintained composure fractured instantly. His jaw tightened, and a bead of cold sweat trickled slowly down the side of his neck.
"That was a legitimate business transaction," Julian lied, though his voice lacked its previous conviction. "Clara is a trusted employee. The funds were for an overseas real estate investment on behalf of the household corporation."
Vance pulled a single sheet of paper from the folder and slid it across the metal table.
"Funny thing about that investment," Vance countered smoothly. "The holding company doesn't exist. And the bank account in Clara’s maiden name was opened using a forged passport that bears your personal notary stamp."
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Julian stared at the document, his mind racing wildly for an escape route as the walls closed in.
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