Chapter 8 - The Interrogation in the Study
The private study on the third floor smelled of old leather, expensive tobacco, and rising panic. When Detective Miller, David, and I pushed open the heavy oak doors, Eleanor Moretti was sitting behind her massive mahogany desk, looking as pristine and unyielding as a marble statue. Her silver hair was perfectly coiffed, her silk blouse unwrinkled, and her face set in an expression of haughty, indignant superiority.
Sitting beside her was a sharp-looking lawyer in a tailored charcoal suit who immediately stood up as we entered. -
"Detective, what is the meaning of this?" the lawyer demanded, adjusting his glasses. "My client will not be subjected to harassment by disgruntled family members—"
"Save your breath, Counselor," Detective Miller interrupted, holding up the thick leather ledger. "Your client's legal exposure just escalated from a family dispute to a cold-case homicide investigation."
Eleanor didn't flinch. She slowly turned her head, fixing her icy blue eyes on David. A bitter, venomous smile touched the corners of her thin lips.
"You brought trash into my home, David," Eleanor said, her voice dripping with venom. "You let a manipulative gold-digger turn you against your own flesh and blood over a scratched eyebrow, and now you're parading around stolen property like a common thief?"
"It's not stolen property, Mother," David said, stepping right up to the edge of the mahogany desk and slamming the ledger down hard against the wood. "It's a confession. A forty-year record of every lie, every payoff, and every life you destroyed—starting with my sister, Claire."
The moment the name Claire left David's lips, the impenetrable armor Eleanor had worn for seventy years finally cracked.
The color drained from her face so fast she looked like a corpse. The smug, superior smile vanished, replaced by a sudden, frantic twitch of the muscle beneath her eye. She gripped the edge of the desk so tightly her knuckles turned ghostly white.
"You... you don't know what you're talking about," Eleanor stammered, her voice losing its polished composure for the first time. "Claire... that was an accident. She fell. She was a clumsy, difficult child—"
"Just like you claimed Chloe tripped yesterday?" David shouted, leaning over the desk so his face was inches from hers, his eyes blazing with a fury that had been suppressed for a lifetime. "Just like you claimed every victim of your violent outbursts tripped, fell, or hurt themselves? You didn't raise a family, Mother. You ran a prison camp, and you executed anyone who didn't bow down to your absolute control."
The lawyer looked nervously between Eleanor and the ledger, realizing in an instant that his client had lied to him. He slowly stepped back, zipping up his briefcase. "Mrs. Moretti... I think we need to review your legal options."
"Shut up!" Eleanor screeched, losing all remaining shreds of her aristocratic dignity. She slammed her hands on the desk and stood up, glaring at David with pure, unadulterated hatred. "I built this family! I built this estate! I gave you everything you ever had, and you turn on me over a brat who doesn't know her place?"
"It's over, Eleanor," Detective Miller said calmly, stepping forward and clicking a pair of cold steel handcuffs onto the table. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."
May you like
As the cuffs were locked around her wrists, Eleanor didn't cry. She didn't beg. She simply stared at David with a look so full of malice it made my blood run cold, whispering a curse that followed us out of the room.
---
