Chapter 3 - The Interrogation and the Web of Fraud
Within twenty minutes, our kitchen was filled with uniformed officers, crime scene technicians in blue booties, and Detective Marcus Vance—a sharp, veteran investigator from the NYPD homicide division who took one look at the crimson test strip and the titanium tumbler before locking eyes with me.
"Mrs. Sterling," Detective Vance said gently, offering me a seat at the mahogany dining table where Alden had sat scrolling through his phone just hours earlier. "Are you feeling alright? Given the circumstances, I want to make sure our medical team checks your vitals."
"I'm fine, Detective, but my unborn son and I have been slowly exposed to heavy doses of cardiac glycosides for weeks," I replied steadily, handing him a thick manila folder. "Inside this folder, you will find my private investigator's comprehensive report, bank statements detailing unauthorized withdrawals from my family's trust accounts, property deeds transferred to an LLC registered under Chloe Vance's name, and certified copies of our prenuptial and postnuptial asset revisions."
Detective Vance opened the folder, his eyebrows rising steadily as he flipped through the meticulous documentation. "You've been building a case of your own."
"When you live with a predator, Detective, you learn to keep records," I answered coldly.
While forensics bagged the titanium tumbler and secured the kitchen security footage, word came in from the hospital regarding Chloe Vance. She had survived the acute poisoning only because the EMTs arrived within minutes of ingestion, pumping her stomach and administering an emergency reversal agent before the cardiac substance could permanently stop her heart. But as soon as she woke up in her hospital room under police guard, her loyalty to Alden evaporated faster than morning dew.
Faced with felony charges of conspiracy to commit murder, embezzlement, and evidence tampering, Chloe confessed to everything within ten minutes of questioning. She spilled every secret: how Alden had convinced her that I was a fragile, unstable heiress who was slowly losing her mind, how he had promised to divorce me and use my inheritance to fund their new life together, and how he had instructed her to drink the "special wellness matcha" he had sent via courier as part of a detox routine they supposedly shared.
He hadn't just tried to murder me; he had tried to poison his mistress as well, intending for her death to look like a tragic suicide or an accidental overdose linked back to a jealous, unstable pregnant wife.
At 2:15 PM, my phone—still resting on the kitchen island—flashed with a blocked caller ID.
Detective Vance noticed it, stepped over, and pressed the speakerphone button before gesturing for me to remain silent.
"Alora? Please... you have to listen to me," Alden’s voice blared through the speaker, frantic, broken, and dripping with desperation. He was calling from a precinct holding phone downtown. "Chloe is lying! She set the whole thing up! She intercepted the delivery and tried to frame me! We have a child coming, Alora—think of our baby! If you tell the detectives it was a misunderstanding, we can fix this. I'll sign over everything—the brownstone, the accounts, all of it!"
I leaned slowly toward the phone, letting a cold, humorless smile touch my lips.
"You spent three years making me feel invisible, Alden," I said clearly into the microphone. "You spent six weeks poisoning my food, laughing behind my back with your mistress, and plotting my death while I carried your child."
I paused, letting the heavy silence wrap around him.
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"Enjoy your stay downtown," I whispered. "I'll make sure our son never has to hear your name."
Detective Vance reached out and tapped the end call button, looking at me with a mixture of professional awe and deep respect. "Well, Mrs. Sterling. I think we have more than enough for an airtight indictment. Your husband isn't seeing daylight for a very long time."
