Chapter 9 - Elena’s Confession
Elena Vance sat in the interrogation room,
her blonde hair disheveled,
her eyes red from crying.
She looked nothing like the confident woman who had tried to sabotage an IV line.
Detective Morales sat across from her,
throwing a stack of photos onto the table.
They were photos of Elena and Warren,
but also photos of Elena and Charles.
“You’ve been busy,
Elena,”
Teresa said,
her voice cold.
“Or should I call you by your real name?
Sarah’s sister?”
Elena flinched,
her face contorting with a mixture of grief and rage.
“He told me he would help me,”
Elena sobbed,
her voice high and thin.
“Warren told me that Charles killed my sister.
He said he had proof,
but he couldn't go to the police because they were friends.”
Teresa leaned back,
the pieces of the puzzle shifting again.
“So Warren recruited you.
He gave you a new identity.
He put you through school.
And he told you that the only way to get justice was to destroy Lillian and Charles.”
“He said Lillian knew the truth and was covering for Charles!”
Elena screamed,
banging her fists on the table.
“He said they were all in it together!
But then...
then I fell in love with him.
And he started changing.
He started talking about the money.
He said the ten million was our ticket out.”
Teresa sighed,
rubbing her temples.
“He was playing both sides,
Elena.
He was using your grief to kill his wife,
and he was using the insurance policy to trap Charles.”
“He’s a monster,”
Elena whispered,
her eyes glazed.
“He told me to put the sedative in the IV.
He said it would just make her sleep so we could leave.”
“It wasn't a sedative,
Elena,”
Teresa said,
softly.
“It was a concentrated dose of the same allergen.
He wanted you to be the one to finish her off.
He wanted his hands clean and yours covered in blood.”
Elena slumped in her chair,
the realization of her own betrayal shattering what was left of her sanity.
She had been a weapon in a war she didn't understand.
And the man she loved had been the one pulling the trigger.
Teresa walked out of the room,
feeling a deep sense of revulsion.
Warren Prescott wasn't just a criminal.
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He was an architect of ruin.
And he wasn't finished yet.
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