Chapter 3 - Interrogation Under Fluorescent Lights
The interrogation room at the county sheriff’s department smelled like decades of stale coffee, damp wool, and institutional floor wax. A single, heavy-duty metal table sat bolted to the center of the linoleum floor, illuminated by a flickering fluorescent tube overhead that buzzed with an irritating, high-pitched whine.
The cuffs had been removed, leaving raw, angry red rings around my wrists. I sat hunched over the table, my hands clasped tightly together, staring at the scratches on the gray surface.
The heavy metal door swung open, and Detective Vance walked in. Vance was a veteran investigator with a reputation for closing cases quickly. He carried a thick manila folder, which he dropped onto the table with a heavy thud. He didn't sit down right away; instead, he paced slowly around the chair opposite me, his heavy boots clicking rhythmically against the floor.
“Your father is currently in the intensive care unit at St. Jude’s,” Vance said, his voice deep and gravelly. “The doctors pumped his stomach. They found high concentrations of a potent synthetic sedative—the exact same active ingredient found in the prescription bottle recovered from your jacket pocket, registered under your name, Daniel.”
“I didn't put it there,” I said, looking up, my voice hoarse from hours of shouting and holding back tears. “It’s a setup. My sister, Megan—she planted the bottle. She put the poison in his drink.”
Vance stopped pacing and leaned his weight onto his hands, resting his knuckles on the table as he leaned in close to my face. The smell of peppermint gum couldn't mask the stale scent of tobacco on his breath.
“Let’s talk about your sister, Daniel,” Vance said calmly, though his eyes were hard. “According to Megan, you’ve been under immense financial pressure lately. Your landscaping business lost its biggest commercial contract three months ago. You’ve been missing mortgage payments. And your father—well, your father controls a rather substantial estate, including the family farm and a trust fund valued at over two million dollars.”
“That’s a lie,” I snapped back, slamming my palm lightly against the table. “Dad and I had a great relationship. He was proud of my business. We were talking about expanding into the valley next spring!”
“Were you?” Vance raised an eyebrow and opened the manila folder. He slid a piece of paper across the table. It was a copy of an email printout. “This was sent from your personal email address to your father’s laptop three days ago. Let me read it to you: ‘If you don't sign over the valley property by the end of the week, things are going to get very difficult for everyone.’ Does that sound like a great relationship to you, Daniel?”
I stared at the paper in absolute disbelief. The words blurred before my eyes. “I never sent that! I don't even use that email account anymore; it's an old one I deactivated last year! Someone hacked it—or Megan had access to my old laptop when she visited our house last weekend!”
“Conspiracy theories are easy to spin when you’re backed into a corner,” Vance said, shaking his head slowly as he sat down in the metal chair. He pulled a pen from his shirt pocket and clicked it twice. “Look, Daniel, I’ve been on this force for twenty-two years. I know when a man is lying and when a man is trapped. Right now, you look like both. If you confess, if you admit that financial stress drove you to do something reckless, the prosecutor might view it as a tragic mistake rather than premeditated attempted murder. We can talk about mitigating circumstances.”
“I won't confess to something I didn't do,” I said firmly, my jaw tight. “Especially not when my daughter is out there alone with the person who actually committed the crime.”
At the mention of Lily, Vance’s expression hardened further.
“Ah, yes. Your daughter,” Vance said, tapping his pen against the folder. “Child Protective Services has already been notified. Given that you’ve been arrested for a violent felony, and your wife passed away two years ago leaving you as the sole guardian, Lily is being placed into temporary protective custody. And guess who volunteered to foster her until this is sorted out?”
The air rushed out of my lungs as if I’d been struck in the chest with a baseball bat.
“No,” I whispered, panic rising like a tidal wave. “Not Megan. You can't let Megan near her! She threatened her! She left bruises on her wrists!”
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“Social services spoke with your sister and the attending deputy,” Vance replied coldly, standing up and gathering his folder. “They noted no signs of abuse on the child, only that the girl was highly distressed due to your erratic behavior and the trauma of seeing her grandfather collapse. As of twenty minutes ago, Megan and her husband took custody of Lily for the duration of the investigation.”
The door clicked shut behind Vance, leaving me alone in the freezing, buzzing interrogation room. I buried my face in my hands, the terrifying reality crashing down around me: Megan had framed me, seized control of the evidence, and now held my daughter hostage in her own home. But I knew something Megan didn't. Tucked safely inside Lily’s pink sock was the one piece of physical evidence that could shatter her entire web of lies—if she could manage to keep it hidden long enough for me to reach her.
