Chapter 7 - The Interrogation Room
The precinct was cold,
smelling of stale coffee,
industrial cleaner,
and the distinct,
metallic tang of fear.
My lawyer,
Marcus Vance,
a shark of a man who specialized in high-stakes litigation and ruthless divorces,
stood by my side in the observation room.
We looked through the two-way glass,
watching Dennis sit at the metal table,
his shoulders slumped,
his hands shaking violently as they rested on the scratched surface.
He was wearing an orange jumpsuit now,
his tailored clothes confiscated for evidence,
his dignity entirely stripped away by the system he thought he was above.
Detective Reynolds,
a seasoned investigator with no patience for local celebrities,
sat across from him,
dropping a thick manila folder onto the table with a loud,
startling slap.
"Let's talk about the stairs,
Dennis,"
Reynolds said,
leaning forward,
his eyes boring into the pathetic man sitting across from him.
"My client is confused,"
Dennis's court-appointed attorney interrupted,
a young,
overwhelmed public defender who looked entirely out of his depth.
"He maintains that the child's fall was a tragic accident."
Reynolds did not even look at the lawyer,
he just kept his eyes locked on Dennis,
a predatory smile creeping onto his face.
"An accident,"
Reynolds repeated,
the sarcasm dripping from his voice,
pooling on the table between them.
"An accident that happened while you were in bed with your sister-in-law,
an accident that you failed to report accurately to the paramedics,
and an accident that you later joked about while drinking whiskey in your kitchen."
Dennis swallowed hard,
his Adam's apple bobbing nervously in his throat.
"I didn't joke about it,
I was in shock,
I was saying things to calm Serena down,
I didn't mean any of it."
Marcus leaned closer to the glass,
crossing his arms over his chest,
a dark,
amused chuckle escaping his lips.
"He's sinking,
Tori,"
Marcus whispered to me,
his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the legal kill.
"He's giving them inconsistent statements,
he's sweating,
and the jury is going to absolutely despise him."
I nodded,
my face remaining perfectly stoic,
my mind already calculating the next steps in this war.
Reynolds opened the folder,
pulling out a stack of glossy photographs,
and spread them across the table for Dennis to see.
They were pictures of Meadow's injuries,
the dark bruises on her arm,
the unnatural angle of her shoulder,
and the terrifying paleness of her small,
innocent face.
Dennis recoiled,
turning his head away,
unable to look at the physical manifestation of his own monstrous actions.
"Look at them,"
Reynolds barked,
slamming his hand down on the table,
making Dennis jump in his seat.
"Look at what you did to your own flesh and blood,
you coward."
"I didn't mean to hurt her,"
Dennis sobbed,
breaking down completely,
burying his face in his handcuffed hands.
"I just wanted her to be quiet,
I just wanted her to go back to her room,
I didn't know she was going to fall so hard."
It was a confession,
a panicked,
sloppy admission of guilt,
and it was captured on three different cameras in the interrogation room.
The young public defender closed his eyes,
rubbing his temples,
knowing that this case was entirely lost,
knowing that his client had just handed the prosecution a wrapped gift.
I turned away from the glass,
looking at Marcus,
my expression hardening into stone.
"I want full custody,
I want the house,
I want his assets frozen,
and I want a restraining order so tight he cannot even breathe in my daughter's direction,"
I demanded,
my voice low,
commanding,
and absolute.
Marcus smiled,
adjusting his tie,
his eyes burning with a fierce,
loyal determination.
"Consider it done,
Victoria,
he won't have a single dime to his name,
May you like
and he will be locked in a cage for a very,
very long time."
