Chapter 3 - The Interrogation Room
The interrogation room at Chicago’s 18th District station was cold, smelling faintly of stale coffee and industrial disinfectant. Underneath the flickering fluorescent tube, Jason Vance sat with his elbows on the metal table, his hands cuffed in front of him. His tailored suit jacket was rumpled, the tie loosened, but his expression wasn't one of panic. It was a mask of calculating indifference.
Across the table sat Detective Alvarez, a veteran investigator with tired eyes and a permanent scowl, and beside her sat Margaret, watching through the one-way mirror as medical technicians wheeled Sophie into an ambulance outside.
“Your wife is talking, Jason,” Detective Alvarez said, sliding a recording device across the table. “In fact, Rebecca is singing quite a lovely tune about clinical trials, offshore accounts, and a pharmaceutical grant worth twelve million dollars.”
Jason didn't flinch. He slowly lifted his head, a thin, bitter smile touching the corners of his mouth.
“Rebecca is hysterical. She’ll say anything to cut a deal,” Jason replied smoothly, his voice dropping into the polished cadence of a defense attorney. “You don't have a case, Detective. A grieving family holds a viewing. A grandmother suffers a severe dissociative episode, breaks into a closed container, and imagines signs of life. Medical examiners declare a child d/ead of acute respiratory failure. Where is the crime?”
“The crime,” Margaret spoke up, her voice cutting through the glass partition via the intercom speaker, “is that my granddaughter's blood test came back from the county hospital ten minutes ago, Jason.”
Jason’s eyes flicked toward the speaker grill in the ceiling. For the first second, a micro-expression of pure terror crossed his features before he forced his composure back into place.
“Her blood contains a lethal dose of tetrodotoxin combined with a paralytic agent,” Margaret continued, her voice shaking with restrained fury. “The exact same compound used in experimental animal testing at the Northwestern lab where you sit on the board of directors.”
Detective Alvarez leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. “Not just animal testing, Jason. Your foundation has been under federal investigation for six months for unauthorized pediatric trials on terminal patients—except Sophie wasn't terminal. She was healthy. But you needed a subject to prove your regenerative cellular formula worked before the grant expired at midnight tonight.”
“That’s absurd—” Jason started, but Alvarez cut him off.
“We found the second key in your study safe, along with the medical logs detailing Sophie’s exact metabolic shutdown and scheduled waking time—which was supposed to be 6:00 a.m. tomorrow, right after the c0ffin was buried at Graceland Cemetery, where you planned to exhume her under the cover of a private contractor.”
Jason stared at the table, his breath hitching. The arrogance began to peel away, revealing the desperate, cornered rat underneath.
“She was going to die anyway,” Jason whispered, his voice turning venomous. “The respiratory infection was real, Mom. We just... accelerated the timeline. We needed the data. With twelve million dollars, we could have built a dynasty. That ungrateful little girl ruined everything because she woke up thirty minutes early.”
Margaret felt a cold rage settle into her bones. She stood up from her chair behind the mirror, turning away from the glass. She didn't want to look at him anymore. Her son was a monster wearing her face, a creature born of greed and ambition.
“Where is Rebecca?” Margaret asked Detective Alvarez as she walked into the observation corridor.
“She’s cooperating fully,” Alvarez replied, standing up and following her. “She gave us the passwords to the offshore accounts and the location of the secondary research notes. They’re both going away for a very, very long time. Attempted murder in the first degree, conspiracy, child abuse, and medical fraud.”
Margaret nodded slowly, wrapping her coat tighter around herself. “And Sophie?”
“She’s stable at Northwestern Memorial,” Alvarez said softly, placing a comforting hand on the older woman’s shoulder. “The toxins are out of her system. She’s sleeping, but this time... it’s real sleep.”
May you like
Margaret let out a long, ragged breath that felt like she was shedding a lifetime of blind trust. She thought of the little girl upstairs in that dark, narrow box, whispering about the needle sleep.
“Take me to her,” Margaret said.
