Chapter 3 - The Interrogation Room
The interview room at the Princeton Police Precinct smelled of floor wax and stale coffee.
Across the steel table sat Detective Vance and a younger female officer holding a video camera mounted on a tripod. In front of me sat a clear plastic evidence bag containing the modified silver tiara, its jagged steel spikes glinting under the overhead fluorescent lights.
"Take your time, Ms. Vance," Detective Vance said gently, sliding the bag closer. "Can you walk me through the exact sequence of events that occurred immediately before this object was placed on your head?"
I took a deep breath, recalling every detail with courtroom precision.
"It was right after the cake cutting," I told the recorder. "Around eight-thirty in the evening. Sofia and several bridesmaids were gathered around the novelty prop table. She picked up this specific tiara, walked over to me, announced to the surrounding guests that it was 'perfect for my jealous little sister,' and slammed it down onto my head with both hands."
"Did she inspect it beforehand?" Detective Vance asked.
"She knew it was heavy," I replied. "When I tried to protest, she dismissed me. And when it struck my scalp and I started bleeding, her immediate reaction wasn't shock or horror—it was laughter. She told everyone to relax because it was just a joke."
Detective Vance nodded slowly, clicking a pen against his notebook. "We questioned your sister and her husband an hour ago. Her husband, Gregory, claims he had never seen the tiara before and assumed it was part of the standard party package purchased online."
"And Sofia?" I asked.
A dark, tight smile touched the detective’s lips. "Your sister claims it was a hilarious prank that went wrong. She told us she bought it from a novelty costume shop in New York City and had no idea there were metal spikes inside."
I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "A costume shop? Detective, no novelty shop in America sells titanium-tipped surgical spikes disguised as rhinestones."
"We agree," Detective Vance said, standing up and opening a manila folder. "Which is why our cybercrimes unit subpoenaed your sister’s digital purchase history yesterday afternoon."
He pulled out two printed receipts and placed them on the table.
"Three weeks before the wedding," Detective Vance read aloud, "Sofia Vance placed an online order with an industrial metal fabrication supplier in Newark. She purchased a blank titanium headband frame and custom-ordered seven one-inch tapered machine-cut steel pins. Total cost: $450."
My stomach plummeted into an abyss of cold horror.
She hadn't bought a prank prop. She had custom-ordered the weapon. She had spent three weeks planning an assault disguised as wedding humor, confident that our mother and the surrounding family would cover for her behavior just like they always had.
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"Can I sign the arrest warrant statement now?" I asked, my voice steady as ice.
Detective Vance slid a pen across the table. "Right here, Ms. Vance."
