Chapter 4: The Interrogation Room
The Oak Creek Police Department smelled heavily of stale coffee and industrial floor cleaner. Clara sat in a windowless interrogation room, her burnt-orange shirt now stained with drywall dust and soot. Across the metal table sat Detective Vance, a seasoned investigator whose tired eyes suggested he had seen enough small-town drama to last a lifetime. He tapped Clara’s phone with the eraser end of his pencil.
"So, let me get this straight, Ms. Hayes," Vance said, his voice a low, gravelly drawl. "You receive an automated email from a dead billionaire at eight in the morning, grab a sledgehammer from the church's renovation wing, and smash his casket open in front of half the town's elite. And you expect me to believe you had no idea there was a pipe bomb rigged to a lockbox inside?"
"I expect you to look at the evidence, Detective," Clara replied, keeping her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "The ledger inside that box proves that Arthur's foundation was a slush fund. Eleanor Pendelton and the board members have been bleeding this town dry for a decade."
Vance sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I’ve seen the ledger. The fraud department is tearing it apart as we speak. But that doesn't explain the explosive. If Arthur set this up to expose his family, why rig a bomb that would destroy the very evidence he wanted found?"
"Because Arthur didn't put the bomb there," Julian’s voice rang out as he pushed open the heavy door. He had discarded his suit jacket and tie, looking more like a weary civilian than the heir to a tarnished empire. "Someone else found out my uncle was faking his death. Someone who wanted that ledger incinerated, along with anyone standing near it."
Vance frowned, standing up. "Mr. Pendelton, you can't be in here."
"She’s my caterer, and I'm acting as her legal counsel," Julian lied smoothly, sliding into the chair next to Clara. He looked at the detective with a hard, uncompromising stare. "You have the ledger. You have the bomb fragments. Clara is a witness, not a suspect. Unless you are planning to charge her with vandalizing a fake coffin, we are leaving."
Vance hesitated, weighing the political nightmare of holding Arthur's nephew against protocol. He slid Clara’s phone across the table. "Don't leave town. Either of you."
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As they walked out into the crisp evening air, Clara let out a breath she felt she had been holding for hours. She looked at Julian. "Legal counsel? You're an architect."
"I watch a lot of courtroom dramas," Julian offered a faint, strained smile. "Besides, we have bigger problems. If someone tried to blow up that casket, it means they know Arthur is still out there. We have to find him before they do."
