Chapter 4: The Statement
The harsh fluorescent lighting of the gallery’s administrative office felt jarring after the dim, atmospheric mood of the main exhibition floor. Officer Marcus Vance—no relation, despite the shared name—stood by the frosted glass door, his notepad pressed firmly against his palm. He looked between Julian, who sat with Clara curled protectively in his lap, and the two immaculately dressed women standing near the mahogany desk.
“Alright, let’s start over,” Officer Marcus said, his tone professional and weary. He clicked his ballpoint pen. “Mr. Vance claims his daughter was deliberately locked in the media storage room for over twenty minutes. Mrs. Vance and Ms. Moretti claim it was a mechanical malfunction of the smart-lock system. Is there physical evidence of a manual override?”
“Check the digital access logs on the main server,” Julian stated clearly, his arms wrapped securely around Clara, who had finally stopped crying and was now sucking her thumb in exhausted silence. “The terminal in the second-floor mezzanine shows an administrative passcode was entered at 8:14 PM. That timestamp matches the exact moment the door bolted shut.”
Lydia crossed her arms, her silver bracelet clinking against her wrist. “The server logs are proprietary property of the Vance Foundation. Accessing them without a warrant violates corporate confidentiality agreements. Furthermore, Mr. Vance is clearly emotionally compromised. His judgment is clouded by unresolved grief over the passing of his late wife.”
Eleanor stood beside Lydia, her posture rigid, projecting an aura of untouchable authority. “My son has always possessed a volatile temperament, Officer. He blames the family for tragedies that were entirely beyond our control. This spectacle is merely an attempt to discredit our philanthropic work and extort resources from the estate.”
Julian felt a familiar surge of hot anger rising in his throat, but he forced himself to breathe evenly. He looked down at Clara, whose eyelids fluttered heavily against his chest. He could not afford to lose control here. The system favored the wealthy, the polished, and the connected, but digital footprints were stubborn things.
“Officer,” Julian said, keeping his voice steady and calm. “My tablet synced automatically with the gallery’s public guest network when we entered. The system download packets include the encrypted telemetry data of the smart lock. I have the exact user ID that sent the lockdown command. It belongs to Lydia Moretti’s administrative profile.”
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Lydia’s composure slipped for a fraction of a second, her pupils dilating as she shot a panicked glance toward Eleanor. The older woman’s sharp jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, the mask of absolute control beginning to crack under the weight of undeniable digital proof.
***
