Chapter 7: The Interrogation Room
The interrogation room at the downtown precinct smelled of stale coffee and decades of bureaucratic despair. Julianne sat at the scarred metal table, her expensive red dress now hopelessly wrinkled, her makeup smudged beneath tired eyes. The illusion of effortless glamour she had cultivated for years had vanished, replaced by the stark, unflattering reality of a police booking photo and a pair of steel handcuffs secured to the bolted table loop.
Detective Miller pushed the door open and took a seat opposite her, sliding a printed transcript across the steel surface. "Your attorney has been on the phone for twenty minutes, Ms. Vance. He's advising you to cooperate, considering we have high-definition audio of you shoving a pregnant woman down a flight of stairs, preceded by six months of incriminating digital correspondence with your boss."
"It was an accident," Julianne whispered, her voice cracking as she stared fixedly at her own hands. "We were arguing about the corporate restructuring timeline. She startled me. I didn't mean to push her down the stairs."
Miller laughed dryly, leaning back in his chair. "That's not what your text messages to Marcus say, Julianne. Let me read you an excerpt from a message you sent him last Tuesday: 'If Elena is out of the picture before the board meeting, the asset reallocation goes through without a hitch. Just let me handle her.' Does that sound like an accident to you?"
Julianne flinched as if struck by a physical blow. The silence in the small room stretched for an eternity, broken only by the hum of the overhead fluorescent light fixture. She realized then that Marcus had already thrown her under the bus, trading her freedom for a fraction of a chance at his own legal survival.
"He told me to do it," Julianne blurted out, tears finally spilling over her lower lashes in genuine, unscripted panic. "Marcus said his wife was standing in the way of our future. He said if she had a miscarriage, the divorce settlement would be minimal because there would be no child custody complications. I was just stupid enough to believe him."
Miller’s pen scratched steadily across his notepad, capturing every syllable. "So Mr. Sterling solicited the assault?"
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"Yes!" Julianne cried out, her voice echoing down the concrete corridor outside. "He planned the whole thing. The gala, the timing on the staircase, everything! I was just his instrument."
Miller closed his notepad with a decisive snap. "Thank you for the clarification, Ms. Vance. We'll make sure the prosecutor notes your cooperation when your case goes before the grand jury. In the meantime, you'll be transferred to county holding."
