Chapter 7 - The Confession
The interrogation room at the state police headquarters smelled of cold coffee and floor wax.
Through the two-way mirror, I watched Vivian Cross sit erect at the stainless-steel table, her attorney standing anxiously behind her while Inspector Vance slid a certified forensic analysis report across the surface.
She didn't shout. She didn't cry. People of Vivian’s generation and class believed that panic was a vulgarity best left to the working class. But as she read the digital transcript logs detailing the infrasonic frequency generator installed in our nursery wall, her hands curled tightly into fists over the metal table.
“My client has no statement to make at this time,” her attorney said quickly, stepping forward.
Vivian raised a single, manicured hand, silencing him.
Her eyes fixed on the two-way glass, knowing full well I was standing on the other side.
“You think this stops me, Arthur?” she whispered, her voice carrying clearly through the audio feed into the observation room. “Cross Atlantic has survived recessions, hostile takeovers, and federal investigations long before you were building strip malls in Bridgeport. A temporary setback in a family court won't touch our core holdings.”
“It’s not a temporary setback, Vivian,” I spoke into the room’s intercom, my voice echoing through the speaker inside her cell. “Your corporate assets are currently under federal receivership pending the outcome of these wiretapping charges. And your trust board has already convened an emergency meeting to strip you of your voting shares before the news hits the financial press tomorrow morning.”
The silence that followed was absolute.
For the first time since I had known her, the invincible matriarch of the Cross shipping empire looked old. The illusion of untouchable power dissolved, leaving behind only the cold reality of a woman who had gambled everything on malice and lost.
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Inspector Vance clicked his pen. “Take her down for booking.”
Two troopers stepped forward, lifting Vivian from her chair. As they cuffed her wrists, she didn't look down; she stared straight into the mirror, her eyes burning with a venom that would outlast the courtroom battle.
