Chapter 4 - The Interrogation Room
The interrogation room smelled of stale coffee and decades of suppressed despair. The metal table between Elena and Detective Vance felt as wide as an ocean under the harsh glare of the overhead fluorescent light. Elena sat rigidly in her chair, her olive green utility shirt wrinkled, her dark curly hair falling messily across her face. She kept her hands flat on the cold metal surface, trying desperately to control the natural trembling in her fingers.
"I didn't touch the vial, Marcus," Elena said, her voice strained but steady. "You know me. You know my family. Clara and Beatrice staged this entire thing."
Detective Vance flipped open the manila folder, sliding a glossy photograph across the table. It showed the kitchen counter, the open pantry door, and a clear, high-resolution close-up of a fingerprint lifted directly from the neck of the glass poison vial. The ridges and whorls matched Elena’s right index finger with undeniable precision.
"Forensics doesn't lie, Elena," Vance said quietly, leaning forward with a sympathetic yet immovable expression. "Your prints are on the murder weapon. Or, in this case, the attempted murder weapon. Little Vanessa is still missing, and every security camera between the family estate and this hospital places your car at the scene of the abduction."
Elena let out a bitter, disbelieving laugh, shaking her head as she leaned back into the hard plastic chair. "My car? My car has been parked in the estate's south garage for three days with a dead alternator! Someone is driving a clone, or someone stole my keys from the foyer hook during the birthday dinner."
"Nobody broke into your house, Elena," Vance replied, tapping a pen against the metal table. "The front gate logs show your personal key fob was used to disarm the perimeter security at exactly 6:42 PM. The exact minute the cake was being served."
A heavy silence descended upon the small room. The rhythmic ticking of the wall clock sounded like a countdown to a disaster from which there would be no return. Elena stared at the detective, realizing with terrifying clarity just how thoroughly she had been set up. Every alibi she thought she had was systematically dismantled by digital footprints she never authorized.
"Clara," Elena whispered, the name tasting like ash in her mouth. "It was Clara all along."
Vance narrowed his eyes, leaning back in his chair as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Your grandmother is seventy-five years old, Elena. She was sitting in the dining room the entire time the cake was cut. Multiple witnesses placed her at the table."
"Witnesses who are terrified of her," Elena shot back, her voice rising in frustration as she slammed her palm against the table. "Clara controls the trust fund, the estate, and every single one of them. Beatrice, the rest of the cousins—they do whatever she says out of sheer terror."
Before Vance could respond, the heavy steel door of the interrogation room swung open violently. A young uniformed officer rushed in, breathless and wide-eyed, holding a tablet up in front of the detective's face without pausing for breath.
May you like
"Sir, you need to see this right now," the officer panted, tapping the screen frantically. "The Amber Alert we issued for Vanessa was just triggered—not by a witness, but by a signal coming directly from the basement of the estate we just searched."
---
