Chapter 4 - The Perfect Frame
The incredibly loud beeping of the heart monitor seemed to openly mock my frozen state of shock.
My own father and my husband had intentionally framed me for the violent attempted murder of my disabled sister.
They had locked her inside a freezing garage and flawlessly assigned the financial motive directly to my legal identity.
I released my sister's hand and stumbled completely backward until my shoulders violently hit the cold hospital wall.
You have to tell the police the absolute truth immediately, I pleaded with her frantically.
Before she could utter another fragile word, the heavy door to the ICU room swung open violently.
The female detective stepped swiftly inside, holding a thick manila folder securely in her hands.
Her previously sympathetic demeanor had been completely replaced by cold, hard, professional suspicion.
I firmly need you to step away from the victim immediately, the detective ordered in a razor-sharp tone.
I desperately tried to explain that my sister was just telling me about a horrific, elaborate setup.
The detective completely ignored my desperate words and opened the manila folder to reveal several freshly printed documents.
We just finished tracing the exact IP address used to officially alter the life insurance beneficiary, the detective stated flatly.
The tablet undoubtedly belonged to your father, but the digital signature authorized the massive payout exclusively to you.
I shook my head wildly, insisting loudly that I knew absolutely nothing about the stolen money.
Then the detective slowly pulled out a highly detailed printed transcript of private text messages.
We just pulled these recently deleted messages directly from your personal cell phone provider, she continued aggressively.
The messages clearly showed me complaining extensively about the heavy financial burden of my sister's medical bills.
They shockingly showed me explicitly discussing exactly how much easier life would be if she were simply gone forever.
I stared blindly at the pages in sheer horror, recognizing my own phone number but completely denying the vicious words.
Mark had always secretly known my phone passcode because we conveniently shared a digital family plan.
He had obviously used my personal device while I was sleeping to successfully fabricate a fake electronic trail of premeditated murder.
You need to arrest my husband right now before he escapes, I yelled at the detective desperately.
The detective firmly crossed her arms and glared fiercely at me with deep professional disgust.
We already dispatched a tactical patrol unit to your shared residence to question your husband, she replied coldly.
However, the house was completely empty, and his vehicle is absolutely nowhere to be found in the entire city.
He ran away because he knows he is extremely guilty, I argued loudly.
The detective stepped incredibly close to my face, her voice dropping significantly to a dangerous whisper.
Or he ran because he horrifyingly discovered his lovely wife is a violent psychopath who tortures her own sick sister for cash.
She reached slowly toward her belt, and I truly realized she was preparing to arrest me on the spot.
I deeply knew that if I went to jail tonight, Mark and my father would easily finish the bloody job they started.
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Suddenly, the hospital fire alarm began shrieking at an agonizingly high volume, rapidly flashing blinding white strobe lights everywhere.
In the pure, unadulterated chaos of the blaring alarm, I shoved past the stunned detective and sprinted blindly down the hallway.
