Chapter 2 - The Perfect Alibi
The interrogation room was a freezing cinderblock cell that smelled of stale coffee and ammonia. I had been sitting there for three hours, shivering in my thin sweater, repeating the exact same story to Detective Miller.
"Arthur called me at 8:00 AM from Chicago," I said, my voice hoarse. "Check my phone records. Check his! He asked me to go to the house. I had no idea Julian was down there."
Detective Miller slammed a thick manila folder onto the metal table. "We did check, Claire. Arthur Vance has been in Chicago since Sunday. He gave a keynote speech this morning to a room of five hundred people. But you know what else we found? A offshore bank account in your name, containing three million dollars transferred directly from Julian's trust fund."
"That's impossible!" I shouted, slamming my cuffed hands on the table. "Arthur is a billionaire. He has the resources to forge that!"
Miller leaned in close, his expression filled with disgust. "Arthur Vance is a respected philanthropist. You are a struggling freelance graphic designer who has deeply resented him since your sister Elena died in his house four years ago. The narrative fits perfectly, Claire. You kidnapped the boy, hid him in the one place you knew Arthur wouldn't check—his own basement—and bled the kid's trust dry."
My blood ran cold. The sticky note. He ruins the narrative.
Arthur wasn't just hiding Julian; he had crafted an immaculate, bulletproof story to destroy me. He knew I still grieved Elena. He knew I had the spare key. He had planted the money, the documents, and the motive.
"I want my phone call," I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs. "And I want a lawyer."
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Miller smirked. "Take your time. You aren't going anywhere."
But as he walked out of the room, a young, frantic uniform officer bumped into him. "Detective," the rookie panted. "The victim... Julian Vance. He just slipped his police detail at the hospital. He's gone."
