Chapter 4 - The Investigation Begins
The police interrogation room at the precinct was cold and functional. Detective Vance, a sharp-eyed woman in her late forty with graying hair, sat across from me with a yellow legal pad and a recorder running between us. Daniel sat in the chair beside me, his presence an unshakeable wall of support.
"Mrs. Vance," Detective Vance began, flipping through a folder. "Walk me through the timeline again. You claim your brother leaned over your chair during the toasts?"
"Yes," I said clearly. "It was approximately 9:15 PM. My father was speaking. Derek approached my chair from behind. He used his left shoulder to shield the view of the surrounding tables. I saw him slide a folded foil packet from the inner cuff of his jacket, open it, and tip a white powder into my champagne glass."
"And you didn't yell or alert anyone?"
"If I had shouted, my father would have covered it up instantly," I explained. "He controls the security at the hotel. He controls the staff. He would have had the glass swept away, declared Derek drunk, and spent the rest of my life portraying me as a hysterical, paranoid woman. I've lived with this family for twenty-six years, Detective. I know how they operate."
"So you switched the glasses."
"Aunt Meredith called his name," I said. "He turned his head for two seconds. I swapped the glasses. He picked up the glass in front of his plate and drank it."
Detective Vance leaned back, tapping her pen against the desk. "Your brother is currently in a medically induced coma. If he survives, he could face charges of attempted murder. But right now, it's your word against a sleeping man, and your parents are claiming you framed him."
"My parents will say anything to protect Derek," I replied. "They always have. When Derek stole three million dollars from the charity foundation five years ago, they blamed an accountant. When he crashed his sports car into a guardrail while intoxicated, they paid off the witnesses. But this time, Derek was sloppy."
I reached into my handbag, pulled out my smartphone, and laid it flat on the desk.
"What's that?" Detective Vance asked.
"Derek didn't buy that neurotoxin on the street," I said. "He's an arrogant man who thinks he's smarter than everyone else. He used his private laptop at the Caldwell Estate to research chemical compounds three weeks ago. I have remote administrative access to the house network—I set it up for my grandfather years ago."
I tapped the screen, opening a series of encrypted cloud files.
"Here are his search logs," I continued. "Here are the encrypted dark-web transactions linked to a bitcoin wallet registered under one of Derek's shell companies, DC Logistics. And here," I pointed to a high-resolution image, "is a screenshot from the estate's private study security camera showing Derek transferring a small paper packet into his wallet yesterday morning."
Detective Vance stared at the phone, her eyes widening as she scrolled through the overwhelming mountain of digital evidence.
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"You were waiting for him," Detective Vance murmured, looking up at me with newfound respect.
"I wasn't waiting to poison him, Detective," I corrected softly. "I was waiting to see how far he would go. He chose to walk to the edge of the cliff. I just didn't catch him when he fell."
