Chapter 5 - THE INTERROGATION ROOM
The interrogation room at the 19th District precinct smelled of stale coffee, old paper, and institutional disinfectant. Under normal circumstances, Brooke Sinclair would never set foot in a place like this. Her world consisted of gilded ballrooms, private jets, and exclusive country clubs.
Today, she sat at a scratched metal table wearing an oversized gray detention jumpsuit, her hair unwashed, her spray tan looking patchy and tragic under the harsh fluorescent lights.
Across from her sat Detective Vance—no relation to Liam, thank God—and a court-appointed public defender who looked like he wanted to be anywhere else on earth.
The heavy steel door swung open, and Liam walked in, flanked by two corporate attorneys and a senior partner from Chicago’s most ruthless criminal defense firm. Liam didn't look like a heartbroken fiancé anymore. He looked like an apex predator stepping into a cage.
Brooke’s head snapped up, her eyes wide and bloodshot. “Liam!” She half-rose from her chair, her metal cuffs clinking sharply against the table. “Liam, thank God! You have to get me out of here! This is a nightmare! Claire is lying, she’s manipulating you—!”
“Sit down, Brooke,” Liam commanded, his voice cold enough to freeze boiling water. He pulled out a chair opposite her and sat down, resting his elbows on the table and locking his dark eyes onto hers.
Brooke faltered, sinking slowly back into her seat. Her lower lip trembled. “You... you don't believe her, do you? After all this time? We were going to get married in three weeks! We were going to have everything!”
“We were going to have a farce built on lies, blackmail, and attempted murder,” Liam said evenly. He slid a thick dossier across the metal table. Inside were two distinct documents: the rooftop security stills, and a fresh warrant for reckless endangerment, insurance fraud, and aggravated assault.
“What... what is this?” Brooke whispered, staring at the papers as if they were venomous snakes.
“This is your future,” Liam replied. “And it gets better. Detective Vance just received the newly reopened forensic report from the Lake Geneva crash six months ago. Turns out, airbag deployment data, seatbelt tension sensors, and eyewitness testimony from a trucker who was behind you prove conclusively that you weren't in the passenger seat. You were driving. And you intentionally forced the vehicle off the road during an argument.”
Color drained completely from Brooke’s face. The sophisticated, untouchable socialite vanished, leaving behind a terrified, cornered animal.
“No... no, that’s not true! Claire lied! Claire took the blame!” Brooke shrieked, slamming her cuffed hands onto the table.
“Yes, Claire did take the blame,” Liam said, his voice rising, sharp and lethal. “Because your mother and you emotionally blackmailed her into destroying her own body to protect your precious social standing. And how did you repay her last night? By walking up behind a wheelchair-bound woman and shoving her onto concrete because guests were paying attention to her instead of you.”
Brooke’s chest heaved rapidly. Tears streamed down her face, ruining her makeup entirely. “She ruined my life! Ever since the accident, she’s been playing the victim! She wanted everyone to feel sorry for her! She wanted you to look at her instead of me!”
“I never loved you, Brooke,” Liam said quietly, the finality of his words hitting her harder than any physical blow. “I thought I did. But I was in love with a ghost—a mask you wore. The moment I saw you push her last night, the mask slipped. And what was underneath was disgusting.”
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He stood up, adjusting his suit jacket, looking down at her with absolute disgust.
“Enjoy your stay, Brooke. The trial for attempted murder and vehicular assault starts next month. My legal team will ensure you receive the maximum sentence.”
