Chapter 5 - The Interrogation Room Table
The fluorescent lights of the downtown municipal police precinct hummed with a sterile, unforgiving buzz. I walked through the double doors clutching a heavy manila folder containing Sophie’s hospital admittance records, the pharmacy timestamp receipt, and screenshots of every toxic, manipulative text message my family had sent me since we arrived at the resort.
Officer Miller was waiting by the front glass partition. He gave me a sharp, respectful nod, opened the secure door for me, and led me down a narrow hallway lined with interrogation rooms.
"We’ve separated all three of them," Miller explained as we walked. "Your father, Richard, is in Room A, looking like he’s about to have a heart attack. Your mother, Eleanor, is in Room B, still trying to pull her high-society routine on the duty sergeant. And your sister, Megan, is in Room C. She’s the weak link. She’s already started crying about how she has 'rights' and how 'Chloe is ruining the family.'"
I stopped outside the heavy, soundproof glass of Room C. Inside, Megan sat slumped in a metal chair, her designer sunglasses pushed up onto her forehead, her mascara running in dark, jagged streaks down her cheeks. Two detectives were standing over her, tossing printed transcripts of the 911 burner call metadata onto the stainless-steel table.
"Before we go in there," I looked at Officer Miller, "I want to know if Sophie’s father—my ex-husband—has been notified. He’s stationed two states away with the National Guard, but he has legal custody rights too."
"We called him twenty minutes ago," Miller said grimly. "He is currently on a military transport flight and will be landing at the municipal airfield by midnight. He was... less than pleased, to put it mildly. He’s bringing his JAG attorney with him."
Good. The more legal firepower, the better.
"Let's go in," I said, my jaw set.
Officer Miller pushed open the heavy steel door of Room C. The sound of our entry caused Megan to snap her head up. When her bloodshot eyes locked onto mine standing in the doorway behind a police officer, all the color drained from her face.
"Chloe!" Megan shrieked, instantly switching from terrified suspect to injured victim. She half-rose from her chair, rattling the handcuffs secured to the table loop. "Chloe, thank God! Tell these idiots there’s been a massive misunderstanding! Mom and Dad said you told us you were stepping out for the whole afternoon and didn't want to be bothered! We thought you left Sophie with room service or something! You have to drop these charges, you're destroying our family over a stupid accident!"
I walked slowly into the room, stopping two feet away from the metal table. I didn't yell. I didn't curse. I simply opened my manila folder, pulled out Sophie’s emergency medical intake report—complete with the 103.1-degree fever diagnosis and the notes on severe dehydration—and dropped it squarely in front of her.
Megan flinched as if the paper were burning hot. She refused to look down at it.
"Read it, Megan," I said, my voice chillingly quiet. "Read what your 'stupid accident' did to an eight-year-old child whose only crime was trusting her grandmother."
"It was a joke! A prank!" Megan sobbed, her facade completely shattering under the weight of the evidence. "Mom said... Mom said if we made you look irresponsible, you'd lose custody, and Dad’s trust fund would automatically transfer the primary disbursement to my household! We needed the money, Chloe! My husband’s business failed, we’re drowning in debt, and Mom said it was the only way to save our family!"
The detectives in the room exchanged a sharp, knowing glance. The audio recording device built into the ceiling light fixture was blinking a steady, ominous red, capturing every single word of her unprompted confession.
"Save your family," I whispered, leaning over the table until my face was inches from hers. "By nearly murdering mine? You didn't save anything, Megan. You just bought yourself a one-way ticket to a federal penitentiary."
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Megan opened her mouth to scream, but no words came out. The heavy steel door swung open behind us, and a detective stepped inside, holding a glowing tablet in his hand.
"Officer Miller," the detective said, looking directly at my escort. "We just got the server logs from the resort's keycard reader and security cameras. You’re going to want to see this. It gets worse for them. Much worse."
