Chapter 2 - The Interrogation Room and the First ConfessionThe sterile white walls of the downtown precinct holding room reflected the harsh fluorescent lights above. Ryan sat at the metal table, sweating through his expensive designer shirt. The arrogance that had sustained him throughout his marriage had completely evaporated.
Across from him sat Detective Marcus Vance, a veteran investigator who had seen every flavor of human depravity, and Colonel James Bennett, standing rigidly in the shadows by the two-way mirror, his arms crossed over his chest.
"Let's go over the timeline again, Ryan," Detective Vance said, tapping a pen against a thick file. "According to your wife’s medical records—the ones you cleverly intercepted and hid from her primary care physician—she suffered a severe concussion in the third month of pregnancy. You told the ER staff she tripped over a rug."
"It was an accident," Ryan muttered, staring fixedly at the scratches on the table. "Pregnancy makes women dizzy. Her equilibrium was off."
"And the fractured rib in month four?" Vance leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Did a rug do that too? Or was it because she wanted to call her father, and you didn't want the old man asking questions?"
"She’s unstable!" Ryan suddenly snapped, a flash of his former venom returning. "You don't know what it's like living with her! She cries over nothing! She threatens to leave me and take the baby! I had to... I had to keep her grounded!"
In the observation room, Colonel Bennett’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched violently in his cheek. He reached out, his hand gripping the metal door handle with enough pressure to crush bone, but he forced himself to stay back. Not yet, he told himself. Let the law do its work first. Then, you can settle accounts.
"Keep her grounded," Vance repeated, his voice dripping with disgust. "By locking her in a bedroom, monitoring her food intake, withholding her phone, and systematically beating her until she lost the will to speak. That’s not keeping someone grounded, Ryan. That’s torture."
Ryan slumped back in his chair, realization finally dawning on him that his mother’s golden-boy status and his corporate salary weren't going to save him. "My mother... my mother said it was the only way. She said women like Emily need a firm hand to learn obedience."
Vance raised an eyebrow. "Oh, Linda said that, did she? Well, that's convenient. Because your mother is currently sitting in room B across the hall, telling us a very different story—she’s trying to pin the whole thing on you."
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Ryan’s head snapped up. "She what?"
"Motherly love has its limits when prison bars are involved," Vance smirked. "And speaking of your mother, she left something very interesting in her safe deposit box. Something you two thought would protect you if things ever went south."
