Chapter 3 - The Interrogation Room ShowdownThey brought Teresa into interrogation room B. She didn't look like the fierce, untouchable matriarch who had ruled my childhood and terrorized my wife. Stripped of her brand-new dress and sparkling jewelry—which were now cataloged as evidence purchased with embezzled funds—she sat in a faded orange jumpsuit, her hair disheveled.
The moment I walked in and sat across from her, she sneered.
“You actually called the cops on your own mother?” she spat, leaning forward until her nose almost touched the glass divider. “Over a little family party? Over a piece of paper? You ungrateful, pathetic excuse of a son! I raised you! I wiped your nose when you were a baby! And you throw me in cuffs for a squawking wife and a sick kid who probably isn't even yours?”
That last sentence hit me like a physical blow.
“Say that again,” I whispered, my voice dangerously low.
“You heard me!” Teresa cackled, emboldened by her own malice. “Amy isn't an angel, Connor. Do you really think she married you for your construction salary? She was deep in debt when you met her. I knew everything. I kept her secrets, and in exchange, she did what she was told. But she grew ungrateful. She tried to turn you against me!”
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out slowly, unlocking the screen.
“You think you're safe because you have the police?” Teresa mocked, crossing her arms. “Your aunts, your uncles, your cousins—they are all witnesses. They’ll swear in court that I bought this house, that I own every brick, and that Amy is an unstable, hysterical woman who imagined the whole thing. You can't win against family, Connor.”
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I unlocked a specific folder on my phone—the hidden folder I had set up three months ago when I first noticed discrepancies in my bank statements and installed hidden, motion-activated security cameras throughout the house.
I tapped the screen and pressed play.
