Chapter 3 - The Interrogation Room and the Hidden Vault The fluorescent lights of the precinct interrogation room hummed with an irritating, high-pitched whine. Vanessa sat at the stainless-steel table, her expensive designer coat ruined by mud, her hair matted with rain, glaring across the room with the defiant malice of a cornered criminal.
Sitting across from her was Detective Marcus Vance, a veteran investigator with thirty years on the force and zero tolerance for wealthy elites trying to buy their way out of murder charges.
"Let's go over it one more time, Mrs. Vance," Detective Vance said, sliding a printed still-frame from the living room camera across the table. "You walk out of the kitchen, you check the hallway to ensure your husband's car isn't in the driveway yet, and then you deliberately shove a rolling infant stroller toward an open staircase. Ten seconds later, your stepmother—Clara—risks her own life to catch it. And then you construct a hysterical lie to frame her the second Adrian walks through the door."
"It's a misunderstanding!" Vanessa snapped, her voice shrill and desperate as she pounded her manicured fingernails against the table. "I tripped! My heel caught on the rug, and I stumbled into the stroller! I was trying to stop it, not push it!"
Detective Vance let out a dry, humorless chuckle. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his broad chest. "That's funny. We ran the frame-by-frame biomechanical analysis through the state forensics lab an hour ago. That wasn't a stumble, Mrs. Vance. That was a two-handed, intentional shove with forward momentum. Furthermore, we checked your financial records from earlier this afternoon."
Vanessa’s defiance faltered for a fraction of a second. Her eyes darted sideways. "My... my financial records? What do my bank accounts have to do with an accident?"
"They have everything to do with motive," Vance replied smoothly, opening a secondary file folder. "Three hours before the incident, you transferred four hundred thousand dollars from Adrian’s corporate development fund into an off-shore Cayman account under your maiden name. Simultaneously, you booked a one-way first-class ticket to Zurich. You weren't just trying to get rid of the baby, Vanessa. You were cleaning out his accounts and running for the hills before he discovered you had bankrupted his firm."
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Vanessa went completely pale. The last remnants of her arrogant facade crumbled into dust. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out; only ragged, shallow breaths escaping her trembling lips.
"Attempted homicide of a minor, embezzlement, fraud, and filing a false police report," Vance listed casually, pulling out a pair of cold steel handcuffs from his belt. "You're looking at twenty years minimum, sweetheart. Welcome to reality."
