Chapter 4 - The Interrogation Room
Three days after my discharge, I sat in the dim observation room of the Portland Police Department, wrapped in a heavy wool coat, watching through the one-way glass as Detective Vance questioned my sister.
Summer looked a shadow of her former self. The glamorous, smiling bridesmaid in lilac chiffon was gone. In her place sat a hollow-eyed twenty-one-year-old wearing an oversized gray detention jumpsuit, her hair unbrushed, a thick white bandage still taped across her left temple where the limousine's side glass had clipped her.
On the other side of the glass, Detective Vance leaned across the metal table, tossing a printed photograph onto the stainless steel.
"Recognize that, Summer?" the detective asked evenly.
Summer glanced down at the photo—a snapshot of the Maui resort booking confirmation, complete with her signature on the digital check-in agreement. She flinched, biting her lower lip until it turned white.
"It was just a trip," Summer muttered, her voice small, defensive, and reeking of panic. "Ethan said he was going to divorce Claire after a year anyway. He said she was cold, that she didn't understand him. He promised we'd be together."
"And the truck?" Detective Vance pressed, leaning in closer, his voice dropping into a hard, metallic register. "The black SUV that T-boned your limousine at the exact intersection outside Saint Matthew’s Church? The driver, Marcus Vance—Ethan’s cousin—was arrested this morning hiding out in a motel in Vancouver. He confessed that you texted him the exact second our limousine pulled out of the church parking lot, giving him our precise GPS coordinates and speed."
Summer shook her head frantically, tears spilling over her eyelashes. "No! No, I didn't mean for her to get hurt that badly! Ethan said the impact was supposed to disable the driver’s side airbags, knock her out cleanly, and make it look like a tragic accident! He promised me nobody would die!"
In the observation room, my breath caught in my throat. Knock her out cleanly. They had planned my murder with the clinical precision of a corporate merger.
"You planned the assassination of your own sister for a married man and a share of her inheritance, Summer," Detective Vance said, his voice dripping with absolute disgust. "You aren't a victim. You're a co-conspirator in an attempted capital murder plot."
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Summer broke down completely, burying her face in her cuffed hands and wailing hysterically as the recording equipment hummed silently in the corner, capturing every word of her utter destruction.
I stood up slowly from the metal chair, feeling a profound, terrifying lightness settle into my chest. The ghosts of the wedding day were finally being dragged out into the harsh, unforgiving light of day.
