Chapter 3 - The Interrogation
The silence in the kitchen was heavy, broken only by the hum of the refrigerator.
Marcus casually checked his luxury watch. “So, Julian, I was thinking about that commercial property downtown—”
“Lily didn’t have a stomach bug, Marcus,” I said quietly, cutting him off.
Marcus paused, his glass hovering halfway to his mouth. He blinked, the charming facade faltering for a microscopic second before returning.
“Oh? What was it, then? Did she just have stage fright?”
I slowly walked around the kitchen island.
“She was covered in bruises,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “On her shoulders. On her back. Shaped exactly like human hands.”
Marcus’s posture stiffened. The relaxed, easygoing brother-in-law completely vanished, replaced by something cold, calculating, and reptilian.
“That’s terrible, Julian,” he said, his voice lowering. “Kids play rough. She probably took a tumble off the monkey bars at school. You know how clumsy she can be.”
“I do know,” I replied, stopping three feet away from him. “But these weren't playground bruises. And when I asked her who did it… she gave me a name.”
I watched his throat swallow. I watched his eyes dart toward the front door for a fraction of a second. He was measuring his escape route. He was measuring my physical strength.
“Kids have wild imaginations, Julian,” Marcus said, a sharp, warning edge creeping into his tone. “They make things up for attention. Especially when they’re stressed about a recital. You shouldn't take everything a seven-year-old says as gospel. It can ruin lives.”
“I didn't say who she named, Marcus.”
Checkmate.
Marcus completely froze. The silence that followed was the loudest sound I had ever heard. In that one split second of hesitation, his guilt was broadcasted loudly and clearly to the detective listening in the van outside.
He set his bourbon glass down on the counter. Clink.
“Julian, listen to me very carefully,” Marcus said, abandoning the charm entirely. His voice was laced with poison. “You and Sarah have a beautiful life. A beautiful house. A perfect family. If you start throwing around wild, unhinged accusations based on a child’s tantrum, this whole family will tear itself apart. Sarah will never believe you. My parents will destroy you.”
He stood up, trying to use his height to intimidate me.
“You need to drop this,” he whispered. “You need to realize that sometimes, things just happen, and the best thing for the family is to keep quiet. Because if you open this door, you won't survive the fallout.”
“I don't care about the fallout,” I said, my voice dropping to a dead, emotionless absolute. “I care about my daughter.”
“She’s a dramatic little girl,” Marcus spat, his arrogance finally blinding his judgment. “She needs to learn discipline. She needs to learn respect. I was just teaching her a lesson about keeping her mouth shut.”
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There it was.
The confession.
