Chapter 11
The heavy oak doors of the downstairs study swung open under the firm push of the lead deputy, accompanied by a younger detective who had just arrived in an unmarked vehicle. Elena stood in the doorway, flanked by a female officer, watching as the law enforcement officials stepped into the dim, wood-paneled room. Daniel stood near the bookshelves, leaning casually against a leather armchair, wearing a mask of cool indifference.
“What is the meaning of this intrusion?” Daniel asked, his voice smooth and controlled, though a slight twitch in his jaw betrayed his underlying anxiety. “My wife has clearly spun an elaborate fantasy due to a psychological episode, and you are enabling her.”
The detective ignored Daniel’s protests, walking directly to the antique mahogany desk. He inspected the brass locks and the surface arrangement before turning his sharp gaze toward Daniel. “Step away from the desk, sir,” the detective ordered firmly.
Daniel hesitated, casting a sidelong glance toward Margaret, who had entered the room behind the deputies, standing like an unyielding monolith of privilege and denial. Reluctantly, Daniel moved away from the desk.
The detective pulled the framed photograph of the estate off the wall, revealing the small iron key tucked behind it. He picked up the key and inserted it into the lock of the bottom drawer. With a sharp click, the drawer opened.
Elena held her breath. For a terrifying second, she wondered if Daniel and Margaret had managed to clear out the incriminating files while she was trapped in the maze. But as the detective pulled open the drawer, the manila folder labeled Catherine lay right there on top, untouched.
The detective opened the folder, pulling out the police reports, the medical examiner summaries, and Catherine’s desperate handwritten journal entries. He skimmed the pages, his expression growing darker and more severe with every line. He looked up from the documents, fixing his hard eyes directly on Daniel.
“This looks less like an accidental fall and more like a carefully orchestrated homicide,” the detective stated plainly, holding up the documents. He turned to the deputies behind him. “Place Daniel Oakridge under arrest for the suspected murder of Catherine Oakridge. Secure the premises and preserve all potential evidence.”
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Margaret let out a sharp gasp, her polished facade finally cracking. “You cannot do this!” she screamed, stepping forward with uncharacteristic fury. “We are the Oakridges! You have no idea who you are dealing with!”
“That,” the detective replied coldly, clicking a pair of steel handcuffs onto Daniel’s wrists, “is exactly what we are going to find out.”
