Chapter 3 - The Interrogation Room
The municipal police station was a drab, brick building that smelled of stale coffee and wet wool.
Officer Vance stood behind the one-way glass of the interrogation room, his hands on his hips as he watched Linda Miller. My mother sat at the metal table, dressed in her floral blouse, her perm slightly flattened by the rain. She was dabbing her dry eyes with a tissue, putting on the performance of a lifetime for the silent camera in the corner.
"I don't understand why we're here, officer," Linda sobbed, her voice carrying through the speaker in the observation room where Bennett and I stood. "We were just trying to help. Emily was so emotional after the birth. She kept demanding pills, kept saying she couldn't sleep. We only gave her what she asked for."
"She’s lying," I muttered, my fists clenching until my knuckles cracked.
"Of course she is," Bennett said smoothly beside me. "But watch how she handles the pressure when the narrative shifts."
Inside the room, the door opened, and a detective named Miller (no relation) stepped in, carrying a folder. He sat opposite my mother, his face expressionless.
"Mrs. Miller," Detective Miller said, opening the folder. "We’ve just received the analysis of the bottle of baby formula we recovered from the kitchen counter at your son’s house. The one you told the responding officers you had prepared for the newborn."
Linda’s tissue paused mid-dab. "Yes? I made it fresh. I’m a grandmother, detective. I know how to make formula."
"The laboratory found high traces of liquid diphenhydramine in the formula, Mrs. Miller," the detective said, leaning forward. "The same sedating medication we found in Emily’s system. You weren't just drugging your daughter-in-law. You were drugging a seven-day-old infant."
Linda’s face went pale, her maternal facade crumbling for a fraction of a second, revealing a hard, ugly line around her mouth. "That’s... that’s impossible. It must have been a contamination. The bottle must have been dirty."
"And what about the signatures on these?" The detective threw a stack of documents onto the metal table.
They were the waiver of service documents for my father’s estate, bearing my forged signature, alongside the mineral rights transfer deed.
"Your daughter, Ashley, has already started talking in the next room, Linda," the detective lied smoothly—a classic police tactic, but highly effective. "She’s telling us the whole thing was your idea. She said you told her that if Emily was out of the picture and Ethan was too busy with a sick kid, you could get him to sign the land transfer over to you as a power of attorney. She’s placing the blame entirely on you."
"That little bitch!" Linda hissed, her voice suddenly turning sharp, venomous, and completely devoid of the weeping-mother act. She slammed her hand onto the table. "She was the one who wanted the money! She’s the one who bought the pills! She said she couldn't stand the baby’s screaming! I was just trying to keep the peace!"
In the observation room, I let out a long, slow breath. The betrayal was complete. They had turned on each other within two hours of being in police custody.
"That’s all we need," Bennett said, tapping my shoulder. "The criminal case is airtight. But we aren't done. The civil court is where we strip them of their assets. Your father’s land, the mineral rights, and every single cent your mother has in her savings account will be legally frozen by noon today under an emergency petition of constructive trust."
"And Ashley?" I asked.
"Your sister’s credit cards, her apartment lease—which is currently co-signed by your mother—and her personal vehicle, which was purchased with a loan secured against your father’s estate, will be reclaimed by the banks within forty-eight hours," Bennett said. "We’ve already initiated the default notices through our financial affiliates."
As we walked out of the station into the cold rain, my phone rang. It was the hospital.
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"Mr. Miller," Nurse Martha’s voice was frantic. "You need to get back here immediately. Your son’s blood pressure is dropping. Dr. Aris is preparing him for an emergency spinal tap."
The world seemed to stop spinning. I ran for the car, the roar of the rain drowning out my own terrified breaths.
