Chapter 11 - The Interrogation
The next morning, I sat in an observation room at the local precinct with Victor and the lead detective, watching through the two-way glass.
Marcus was in the interrogation room. He looked terrible. He hadn't slept, his hair was a greasy mess, and the reality of federal prison was crushing him physically.
“He’s ready to crack,” the detective said, sipping a terrible cup of precinct coffee. “These white-collar, country-club types always break the second they realize they aren't getting out.”
The detective walked into the interrogation room. Marcus immediately started pleading.
“You have to protect me,” Marcus begged, his voice cracking. “The Vegas guys... if I go to prison, they’ll have me killed on the inside. I owe them too much.”
“Then give us everything,” the detective said, slamming a heavy file onto the metal table. “Give us the names of the loan sharks, the account numbers, and tell us exactly whose idea it was to murder your grandmother.”
Marcus didn't even hesitate. “It was my mother’s idea! Sylvia! I just wanted to transfer the money, but Sylvia said Eleanor was becoming too suspicious. She bought the pills! She crushed them! I never touched the medication, I swear!”
I watched through the glass, thoroughly disgusted. A man who would sell out his own mother to save his skin was capable of absolutely anything.
“And the forgery?” the detective pressed.
“Sylvia practiced Clara’s signature for weeks,” Marcus babbled, tears streaming down his face. “She traced it from her wedding certificate. I just facilitated the digital transfer. I’m a victim here! She manipulated me!”
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Victor chuckled darkly beside me. “There is no honor among thieves.”
“Print the confession,” I said, turning away from the glass. “Let’s see what Sylvia has to say when she finds out her darling boy just threw her under the bus.”
