Chapter 3 - The Interrogation RoomThe interrogation room at the downtown precinct smelled of cheap disinfectant, stale coffee, and unyielding despair.
When I walked through the heavy steel door, escorted by two armed detectives, my mother Margaret was sitting at the metal table wearing an orange detention jumpsuit. Her hair was messy, her designer handbag confiscated, and her face flushed with indignant fury. Carla sat beside her, nervously shredding a paper cup into tiny pieces between her trembling fingers.
— Austin! Thank goodness! — Margaret shrieked, standing up so violently her metal chair scraped loudly against the concrete floor. — Tell these incompetent fools to take these handcuffs off me immediately! Arrest that woman you married! She framed us!
I didn't answer. I pulled out the chair opposite them, sat down slowly, and placed a thick manila folder directly in the center of the table.
— Sit down, Mother, — I commanded, my voice flat, low, and devoid of any emotional inflection.
Margaret blinked, taken aback by my tone. She slowly sank back into her chair, forcing a brittle, nervous smile. — Now, Austin, don't be ridiculous. You know how emotional things get. Carla and I were just trying to protect your financial interests from that manipulative little—
— Stop talking, — I interrupted, opening the folder and sliding two medical toxicology reports across the table. — Look at those.
Margaret glanced down at the papers, her brow furrowing in confusion. — What is this garbage?
— Those are the comprehensive blood panels taken from Irene’s body two hours ago at St. Jude’s Hospital, — I said, leaning forward resting my forearms on the table. — They show lethal, concentrated levels of lead acetate and digitalis derivatives in her bloodstream. Slow-acting poisons administered over the last twelve weeks.
Carla let out a sharp, breathless gasp, her hands flying to cover her mouth.
Margaret’s face turned the color of curdled milk, though she quickly tried to mask her panic with aggressive indignation.
— That’s... that’s absurd! Are you accusing your own mother and sister of trying to murder your wife? Have you lost your damn mind over that woman?! — Margaret shouted, slamming her fists onto the table.
— I have video footage of you beating a pregnant woman while your daughter smashes my wall safe with a hammer, — I replied smoothly, not raising my voice by a single decibel. — I have financial records showing you drained thirty thousand dollars from our joint family trust last Tuesday without authorization. And now, I have medical proof that someone in my house was systematically poisoning my unborn child.
I paused, letting the heavy silence crush the air out of the room.
— Do you really think a jury is going to look at that evidence and assume it was just a misunderstanding?
Carla broke down first, burying her face in her hands and sobbing hysterically. — Mom, I told you we should have left when we had the chance! I told you he was too smart for this! We’re going to prison for the rest of our lives!
— Shut your foolish mouth, Carla! — Margaret hissed, grabbing her daughter’s arm and glaring at her with venomous fury before turning back to me. — Austin, listen to me! We were only trying to secure our future! That woman was going to take half of your empire in a divorce! We were just protecting what belongs to the Wentworth family name!
Hearing those words come out of my mother's mouth—justifying attempted murder and the poisoning of an unborn child as “protecting the family name”—extinguished the very last ember of filial loyalty in my chest.
— The Wentworth family name died tonight in that bedroom, — I said quietly, standing up from the table.
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— Austin! Austin, wait! You can't do this to your own flesh and blood! We raised you! — Margaret screamed, lunging toward the glass partition as the guards stepped forward and restrained her.
I didn't look back. I walked out of the interrogation room, slamming the heavy steel door shut behind me, sealing their fate forever.
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