Chapter 7 - The Interrogation RoomUnder the harsh fluorescent lights of the county jail holding cell, Brandon Prescott sat with his head in his hands. The immaculate Armani suit was rumpled and stained with rain. His hair was disheveled, and the billionaire playboy facade was completely shattered.
The heavy steel door swung open. Detective Miller walked in, dropping a thick manila folder onto the metal table with a heavy thud.
"Sign the confession, Prescott," Miller said flatly, pulling out a chair and sitting down. "It’ll save the state time and spare you a few years of false hope."
"I want my lawyer," Brandon muttered, not looking up.
"Your lawyer dropped you this morning after discovering your corporate shell companies were completely insolvent," Miller replied with a grim smile. "Gretchen already talked, by the way. She gave up every single detail. She told us how you bought the heavy-duty climbing gear, how you scouted the cliff edge three times, and how you promised her half the fifty million."
Brandon’s head snapped up, his eyes bloodshot and frantic. "She’s lying! It was her idea! She manipulated me!"
"Funny, she said the exact same thing about you," Miller chuckled. "Either way, the jury is going to love hearing the audio recordings from your phone. Conspiracy to commit murder, insurance fraud, embezzlement, and attempted murder in the first degree. You’re looking at consecutive life sentences without the possibility of parole."
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Brandon stared at the table, the reality finally sinking in. He had held all the cards, possessed all the wealth, and controlled every variable—except for one.
He forgot that monsters born of ice don't melt easily.
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