Chapter 7 - The Interrogation Room Echoes
The basement holding cells of the Metro Police Department smelled of industrial disinfectant and old concrete.
Detective Shaw led me down the narrow corridor, her heels clicking rhythmically against the floor. We stopped in front of Observation Room B. Through the one-way mirror, Eric sat hunched over a cold stainless-steel table, his hands cuffed to a bolted ring in the center.
He looked wretched. The sharp lines of his designer suits were gone, replaced by a standard orange detention jumpsuit that hung loosely over his frame. His hair was messy, dark circles bruised beneath his eyes.
“He’s been like that for three hours,” Detective Shaw said quietly, crossing her arms. “His defense team tried to file for a medical release twice. Both judges rejected it. Once the prosecutor introduced the wiretap records linking him to the drainage diversion contractors, his bail request vanished into thin air.”
“Has he asked about me?” I asked, my voice devoid of emotion.
“Constantly,” Shaw replied, glancing sideways at me. “Mostly whining about how you ruined everything. He still doesn't understand that he did this to himself.”
I watched him through the glass. I remembered the night he told me I belonged in a hospital bed—helpless, voiceless, and dependent. Now, he was the one trapped behind steel bars, waiting for a gavel to fall that would wipe his name off corporate registries forever.
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“Let him sit in it a little longer, Detective,” I said softly, turning away from the glass. “He needs time to reflect on where he really belongs.”
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