Chapter 3 - The Interrogation Room
The cold, fluorescent lights of the county police precinct interrogation room buzzed with a low, irritating frequency. Across the scarred metal table sat my mother, Valyria. Her designer blouse was slightly rumpled, her hair out of place, but the arrogant, haughty glare in her eyes remained entirely intact.
Beside her, my father, Arturo, slumped in his chair, staring fixedly at his fingernails, looking every bit of a coward who realized the ship was sinking and he was chained to the hull.
The door clicked open, and I walked in, leaning slightly on a cane, my left shoulder wrapped in burn dressings. Mateo walked beside me, his hand firmly supporting my elbow, while Uncle Raymond followed behind carrying a heavy cardboard evidence box.
Valyria snapped her head up, her eyes narrowing into slits. "Kaylee? What is the meaning of this? Dragging your own parents down to a police station like common criminals just because of a domestic disagreement over business paperwork?"
I didn't answer right away. I pulled out the chair opposite them and sat down slowly, letting the silence stretch until Valyria’s false confidence began to twitch at the corners of her mouth.
"A domestic disagreement?" I finally spoke, my voice cold, steady, and completely devoid of the daughterly deference she expected. "You poured boiling milk onto my pregnant belly with the explicit intent to injure me and terrorize my unborn child. You broke into my private property, assaulted me, and attempted armed grand larceny."
Arturo winced, shrinking back into his chair. "Valyria, I told you... I told you this was going too far..."
"Shut up, Arturo!" Valyria hissed, glaring at her husband with pure venom before snapping her attention back to me. "You ungrateful, selfish little wretch! We raised you! We clothed you! That company—those debts—belong to this family! You had no right to hoard your wealth while your father and I faced bankruptcy!"
The door opened again, and Camila was led in by a female officer. My younger sister was sobbing hysterically, her mascara running down her cheeks, her hands cuffed in front of her.
"Mom! Make them take these off!" Camila wailed, collapsing into the empty chair next to Valyria. "They treated me like a criminal at the roadblock! They opened the briefcase! They took everything!"
Uncle Raymond stepped forward, setting the heavy cardboard box onto the table. He reached inside and pulled out the rigid black leather briefcase. He popped the latches with a loud, metallic click.
Inside sat the original, legal share certificates, trust documents, and corporate deeds left to me by my late mentor, Arthur Vance—Uncle Raymond’s own father, who had deliberately bypassed my parents in his will because he knew exactly what greedy vultures they were.
"You didn't just try to steal corporate debt offloading contracts, Valyria," Uncle Raymond said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly register. "You committed first-degree burglary, grand theft of fiduciary assets, and aggravated assault with a deadly weapon upon an eight-month pregnant woman."
Valyria crossed her arms, lifting her chin with stubborn defiance. "Prove it. It was a domestic accident in the kitchen. The pot slipped. Anyone can have a kitchen mishap during a chaotic party. And as for the briefcase—Kaylee gave us permission to retrieve some family documents from her room. It’s all a misunderstanding."
I smiled—a cold, humorless expression that made Valyria pause.
"A misunderstanding," I repeated softly. I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my smartphone. I tapped the screen and pressed play.
The crisp, high-definition audio of the kitchen conversation filled the sterile interrogation room.
— Sign — my mother ordered. — Did you organize my baby shower to steal from me? — — We organized it because you refused to fulfill your obligation as a daughter. — — Valyria — my father said... Valyria lifted the pot... — Mom, no — Camila murmured. — Sign, Kaylee. Or your son will lose everything. —
The audio played on, capturing the sound of the milk splashing, my scream, my fall, and Arturo’s cowardly command to Run! as they abandoned me bleeding on the floor.
As the recording ended, the room was dead silent.
Camila buried her face in her cuffed hands and began to sob uncontrollably. Arturo looked like he was about to vomit. And Valyria? Her face turned an ash-gray, her jaw slackening as she realized every single word, every malicious threat, and every calculated act of violence had been captured in crystal-clear digital perfection.
"I had a nanny-cam installed in the kitchen last month for security," I lied smoothly, watching her color drain. "And my phone was recording audio in my pocket from the moment you walked into the house, Mom."
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Valyria’s hands began to tremble. She looked from me, to Uncle Raymond, and finally to Arturo, realizing there was no escape hatch left.
"Bail won't even be an option for this kind of charge," Uncle Raymond said, pulling out a pair of cold steel handcuffs and stepping behind Valyria's chair. "Put your hands behind your back, Valyria. You're going straight downtown to holding."
