Chapter 10
The interrogation room smelled of stale coffee, old paper, and decades of quiet despair. The metal table between Clara and Detective Miller was scratched and scarred by countless desperate souls who had sat in this exact chair before her. Overhead, a fluorescent light hummed with a headache-inducing frequency.
Clara sat with Lily securely strapped into a lightweight carrier resting safely on her lap. She wore the same pink robe over her pajamas, refusing to change, refusing to let them sanitize her reality. Across the table, Detective Miller slid a manila folder across the metal surface—the same folder Evelyn had brought to her house earlier that afternoon, now stamped with official police evidence markers.
“This deed was filed three days after your husband’s funeral,” Miller said quietly, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. He studied Clara’s face, looking for cracks in her composure. “According to these documents, Mark Vance signed over complete ownership of his properties and corporate shares to Evelyn Sterling’s private holding company. He was deeply in debt, Mrs. Vance. The firm was facing a massive federal embezzlement investigation, and your husband was listed as the primary architect.”
Clara didn’t flinch. She kept her right hand buried deep inside the pocket of her robe, her fingers curled tightly around the red ledger and the flash drives she had pulled from the floor safe.
“Mark didn’t steal anything,” Clara said, her voice steady and resonant in the small room. “He was investigating the shortfall, Detective. He found out Evelyn was using the municipal pension funds to finance her real estate empire, and when he threatened to expose her, she had him killed.”
Miller sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a tired hand. “That’s a very serious accusation to level against one of the most powerful women in this state, Clara. Without physical evidence linking Evelyn to the crash on the coast, the district attorney won't even look at a warrant.”
Clara pulled her hand out of her pocket, sliding a small black flash drive across the table until it rested against Miller’s notepad.
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“That drive contains every encrypted transaction, every shell company transfer, and an audio confession from the junior partner Evelyn tried to frame,” Clara said, her eyes locking onto the detective’s surprised expression. “Is that enough evidence for you to start an investigation, or do you need me to write it in crayon?”
Miller picked up the small piece of plastic, staring at it as if it were a live grenade. Before he could speak, the interrogation room door slammed open without warning.
