Chapter 2 - The Interrogation of Daniel Miller
Inside the interrogation room of the Westbridge Police Department, the air was stale and heavy with the scent of cheap coffee and institutional cleaner. Daniel Miller sat at the metal table, wearing his winter coat, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His posture was stiff, radiating a calculated arrogance designed to intimidate anyone who crossed him.
The heavy steel door swung open, and Detective Elena Cruz walked in, dropping a thick manila folder onto the table with a sharp thud. She sat down opposite him, her dark eyes unblinking.
“You’re making a massive mistake, Detective,” Daniel said, his voice smooth and controlled. “My wife is at home recovering from the shock of a break-in or whatever hallucination her son had tonight. I demand to be released immediately.”
“It’s not a hallucination, Daniel,” Elena said quietly, opening the folder to reveal a high-resolution photograph of the guesthouse bedroom, the makeshift cradle, and the silver necklace. “We found the guesthouse. We found Mia’s things. And more importantly, we found the photograph of you and your sister-in-law sharing a very intimate moment while she was pregnant with your child.”
Daniel’s left eye twitched—a micro-expression of panic that he quickly masked behind a cold sneer. “Mia was a troubled girl. She showed up on our doorstep six months ago, begging for help. I let her stay out of the goodness of my heart. If she chose to live in the guesthouse without Laura’s knowledge, that was her choice. I was protecting my family from her instability.”
“Protecting your family?” Elena leaned forward, her voice dropping into a dangerous register. “By keeping a missing woman locked in a guesthouse behind your home? By letting her give birth on a narrow cot in freezing temperatures without medical supervision? And then what, Daniel? Were you planning to pass the baby off as an adoption, or were you hoping Mia would disappear permanently once the child was born?”
“That is absolute garbage,” Daniel snapped, slamming his hand onto the table. “Prove it. Show me one piece of evidence that places me in that guesthouse during the birth. Show me a witness who saw me keep her there against her will. You have nothing!”
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“We have a newborn baby fighting for her life at Westbridge Medical Center,” Elena shot back, her voice ringing off the cinderblock walls. “And right now, my officers are searching the south pasture for Mia, who is bleeding and hypothermic because of your cowardice. The moment she wakes up—or the moment the forensics team pulls your DNA off that makeshift cradle—your little story is going to crumble into dust.”
Daniel stared at her, his chest heaving, the veneer of corporate calm finally cracking around the edges. But he said nothing more, closing his mouth into a hard, stubborn line and demanding his lawyer.
