Chapter 11 - The Interrogation Room
Three hours later, the glittering chandeliers of the mansion were replaced by the harsh, flickering fluorescent lights of a police interrogation room.
Vanessa Harrington sat at a cold, stainless-steel table. She was still wearing her expensive emerald gown, but it was now wrinkled and stained with sweat. Her perfect hair was disheveled. She looked like a deposed queen stripped of her crown.
Detective Miller walked into the room, carrying a massive stack of thick manila folders. He dropped them onto the metal table with a heavy, intimidating thud.
Vanessa immediately raised her chin, desperately trying to project her usual arrogance. "I want my lawyer. You have no right to hold me here. That girl tripped and fell. It was an accident."
Miller didn't sit down. He leaned over the table, staring her down.
"Your lawyer is currently sitting in a cell three doors down from you, Vanessa," Miller said coldly. "He was arrested forty minutes ago for helping you launder thirty million dollars through shell companies."
Vanessa’s arrogance faltered, a flicker of genuine panic flashing in her eyes. "You're lying."
Miller opened the first folder. "We have the wiretap recordings. We have the bank statements you tried to shred. And we have the high-definition cell phone footage from three different guests at your party clearly showing you shoving Olivia down a flight of wooden stairs."
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Vanessa swallowed hard, her throat completely dry.
"Your empire is gone," Miller continued, his voice dropping to a low, lethal register. "Your board of directors is currently turning state's evidence against you to save their own skin. You tried to murder a pregnant woman to stop her from inheriting the shares that would have exposed your fraud. You aren't going back to a mansion, Vanessa. You are going to a concrete box."
