Chapter 4 - The Trap is SetSaturday morning, the Nashville Police Department precinct smelled like stale coffee and bleach.
I sat in the cold metal chair in the interrogation room, waiting. Marcus sat next to me, typing furiously on his laptop. He had pulled a few favors, flashed his federal credentials, and gotten us ten minutes alone with the prisoner.
The door opened, and a female officer escorted my mother inside.
She looked terrible. The orange jumpsuit clashed horrifically with her skin tone, her hair was a tangled rat's nest, and the mascara was smeared under her eyes like war paint.
She slammed her hands on the metal table, glaring at me. "It's about time! Tell them to release me, Connor. The food here is inedible, and the woman in my cell keeps talking to the wall."
I didn't blink. "You're not getting out, Brenda."
She scoffed, crossing her arms. "You can't prove anything. The insurance papers? Mason did that. He's always been a shady little rat. And the poison? Amy probably took it herself to get sympathy. She's mentally unstable, Connor. I've been trying to tell you."
Her ability to lie, even when backed into a corner, was almost sociopathic.
"We don't need you to confess to the poisoning, Brenda," Marcus said smoothly, not looking up from his screen. "Because I just spent the last six hours tracing the financial footprint you left behind. It's sloppy. Really sloppy."
My mother's smug expression faltered. "Who is this?"
"This is the man who just froze the Cayman Islands account," I said, leaning forward. "The $250,000 is safely back in my name. We also found the credit cards you opened in Amy's name. That's identity theft, wire fraud, and grand larceny."
She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing.
"But here's the fun part," Marcus chimed in, turning his laptop screen toward her. "When we looked into your phone records, we found texts to a man named Arthur Vance."
My mother actually gasped, her face turning an ashen gray.
"Who is Arthur Vance?" I asked, looking between Marcus and my mother.
Marcus smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Arthur Vance is a known associate of the Russian syndicate in Chicago. Your mother didn't just want $1.5 million from a life insurance policy, Connor. She was in debt. Massive debt. She owes Vance three hundred thousand dollars from illegal gambling."
I stared at the woman who gave birth to me. The sheer scale of her depravity was staggering. She wasn't just greedy; she was trying to pay off a mob debt with her own grandson's life.
"If... if you know about Arthur," Brenda stammered, suddenly looking terrified, "you have to get me out of here. He'll have me killed in prison! Connor, please! I'm your mother! I gave you life!"
"And you tried to take my son's," I whispered, my voice dripping with venom.
I stood up, pushing my chair back. "I'm leaving now. But I'll make you a deal. I will agree not to hand over this financial evidence to the DA—which would add thirty years to your sentence—on one condition."
"Anything!" she cried, desperation finally breaking her facade. "Anything, Connor, please!"
"I want the names of everyone in the family who knew about the life insurance. I want signed confessions from you implicating Aunt Shirley, Uncle Dave, and especially Mason. I want them all to go down for conspiracy."
Brenda didn't even hesitate. She threw her own siblings and nephew under the bus before I could even finish the sentence. "Done! Give me a pen. I'll tell you everything. Mason bought the rat poison! Shirley was going to get ten percent for keeping Amy distracted! I'll write it all down!"
Marcus slid a legal pad and a pen across the table.
May you like
As she began to scribble frantically, condemning the rest of our toxic family, I looked at Marcus. He gave me a subtle nod.
She didn't realize that a confession to conspiracy would guarantee she never saw the light of day again. She was digging her own grave, and I was handing her the shovel.
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