Chapter 3 - The Frame-Up
The interrogation room at the 5th Precinct was freezing cold. The single overhead fluorescent light hummed with an irritating buzz that made my temples throb.
Detective Miller sat across from me, tapping the crypto-wallet printouts against the wooden table.
"It looks bad, Natalie," Miller said, his tone neutral but firm. "The crypto wallet was created three weeks ago using your IP address at your university dorm. The transaction cleared four days before your graduation party. And we have three witnesses—servers at the party—who state you were the one who personally handed the champagne glass to your sister."
"My father set up that IP address," I said calmly, looking straight into the mirror on the wall, knowing my father and his lawyer were watching from the other side. "He paid my university tuition. He managed my digital accounts. He had access to my dorm room network through the remote software he forced me to install on my laptop last semester under the guise of 'family cybersecurity.'"
"That's a convenient defense," Miller noted. "Do you have proof?"
"Detective," I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the metal table. "Look at the timing of the crypto transaction. What time was the order placed?"
Miller checked the sheet. "May 12th, at 2:14 PM."
"On May 12th at 2:14 PM," I said slowly, "I was sitting in the main hall of the University Assembly, taking my final cumulative law exam. The exam was proctored, recorded on high-definition video, and strict anti-device rules were enforced. My phone and laptop were turned off and stored in a locker outside the hall."
Miller paused, his pen hovering over his notepad. "You have proof of that?"
"Check the university server logs," I replied smoothly. "And while you're checking logs, why don't you ask Detective Julian Sterling to present the footage from the secondary security system I installed at the Brooks estate three days ago?"
Through the one-way glass, I heard a sudden muffled commotion in the observation room.
Miller frowned, standing up. "What secondary security system?"
"My father thinks he owns the Brooks estate," I smiled faintly. "But three days ago, knowing my twenty-second birthday was approaching and knowing how desperate he was getting over the Vance Trust, I paid a private security firm to conceal three motion-activated micro-cameras in the main parlor and near the dining room bar."
The door to the interrogation room burst open.
Julian Sterling walked in, holding a tablet displaying a crystal-clear 4K video feed. Behind him, Richard Brooks looked like a man who had just stepped onto a trapdoor.
"Detective Miller, you need to see this," Julian said, placing the tablet on the table.
He hit play.
The video showed the estate’s parlor room at 6:30 PM—two hours before the graduation party started.
On screen, Richard Brooks was seen standing over my open laptop on the study desk. He inserted a black USB thumb drive into the port, typed rapidly for four minutes, and then wiped the keyboard down with his handkerchief.
The camera then cut to a second angle near the refreshment bar at 8:15 PM.
The video clearly captured Richard pulling a small paper packet from his waistcoat, tearing it open, and dumping the white powder into the tall champagne flute marked with a pink ribbon—the exact glass designated for me. The camera zoomed in with high-definition clarity as he swirled the glass to dissolve the powder before stepping back into the crowd.
The room fell dead silent.
Detective Miller stared at the screen, then looked slowly up at Richard, who was standing in the doorway, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
"Mr. Brooks," Detective Miller said, his voice dropping into a cold, lethal register. "I suggest you step back into the hallway and put your hands behind your back."
"No! This is a fabrication!" Richard screamed, his composure shattering entirely. "She hacked my system! She forged that video! She’s trying to destroy me!"
"You're under arrest for attempted first-degree murder, illegal administration of a controlled substance, and evidence tampering," Miller barked, pulling his handcuffs from his belt.
As the officers slammed Richard against the corridor wall and snapped the steel cuffs around his wrists, he turned his head, locking eyes with me through the open door.
"You won't get a dime, Natalie!" Richard roared, his face purple with rage as he was dragged down the hallway. "You hear me?! I'll burn the Vance Trust to the ground before I let you touch it!"
I walked out of the interrogation room, stepping past Attorney Vance, who was already packing his briefcase in silent disgrace.
May you like
"Julian," I said, turning to my friend. "How is Madison doing?"
"She just woke up," Julian said softly. "And she's asking for you."
