Chapter 4

The entire precinct lobby went wild with outraged shouts.

Reporters, officers, and bystanders hurled venomous curses at me. If the police hadn't formed a protective human wall, the mob might have ripped me apart with their bare hands.

Grandpa and Grandma passed out from the overwhelming shock and grief.

As for Claire—unable to stomach the horrific reality—she broke away, raced up the stairs to the police station's roof, and jumped off right in front of everyone.

In the blink of an eye, dark blood stained the concrete of the station courtyard.

Things had spiraled into pure, uncontrollable chaos.

With the scene descending into absolute bedlam, Reynolds personally dragged me down the hallway and locked me inside the highest-security interrogation suite.

He sat across from me, answered a grim phone call, and hung up with a stony face.

"Your sister, Claire Sterling, didn't make it. The ER pronounced her dead. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

I simply shrugged, my face entirely blank.

"I didn't push her. What do you want me to say?"

Reynolds slammed his fist onto the metal table in a burst of fury, veins bulging on his neck as he fought to contain his rage.

"Your sister took her own life because of your sick, inhuman deeds! She couldn't handle the horror of what you did! Don't you feel even a shred of remorse?!"

I stretched lazily and replied in a flat drone.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Detective, but nope. Not a bit."

"If you're going to lock me up, do it already. I already confessed to murdering my dad, and I handed you the bloody evidence. Stop dragging your feet."

Reynolds looked ready to explode, but in the next second, something seemed to click in his head. The anger drained from his features, replaced by a razor-sharp chill.

He slowly sat back down, leaning in close, his piercing eyes boring into mine.

"Something's off. None of this adds up."

"Everyone in this city knows how deeply Arthur Sterling cherished you. Killing him brings you zero benefit. You have absolutely no motive."

"Furthermore, when people commit murder, they either flee the state in terror or exhibit severe psychological unraveling.”

“But you? You haven't changed at all. You stayed home, casually eating snacks and watching television for three days."

"You even willingly walked into a police station to give a statement. None of this aligns with the behavioral psychology of a killer."

"Yet you somehow produced a shirt drenched in Arthur Sterling's blood... What is really going on here?"

"Chloe, are you being coerced? Are you hiding something you can't say out loud? Talk to me. I swear on my badge I will find the truth and protect you."

A tiny twitch pulled at the corner of my eye, but I quickly masked it, repeating like a broken record:

"No coercion. No hidden secrets. You're overthinking it."

"I plead guilty. I slaughtered my dad."

"You have the confession and the bloody shirt. What more are you waiting for? Close the case so everyone can move on. Go home and get some sleep, Detective."

Hearing my dismissive reply, the wrinkles on Reynolds’ forehead deepened.

He flipped back and forth through the case file, his brow knotted in intense thought. Suddenly, his eyes lit up with a flash of realization.

"Even if you confess, and even with the bloody shirt, we are still missing the most critical link in the evidentiary chain."

"We haven't found your father's body. Legally speaking, we cannot confirm that he is deceased."

His words threw a wrench into my calculations. My flat demeanor cracked, and irritation seeped into my voice.

"Why are you being so damn difficult?! I told you he's dead, so he's dead!"

"If he were still breathing, why hasn't he contacted anyone in days? Use your brain!"

Reynolds watched every micro-expression flit across my face. That single slip confirmed his suspicion: there was a massive twist beneath the surface.

He leaned forward, his voice hard as iron. "Chloe Sterling, until we recover your father's body, I will not sign off on your murder conviction."

"Whatever twisted game you're playing, and whatever reason you have for trying to pin parricide on yourself, I am not closing this file."

A suffocating silence fell over the room.

The case had hit a brick wall. Reynolds was refusing to play along with my script.

Just as the detective stood up, turning his back to walk out the heavy steel door, an idea struck me.

"If we find Dad's corpse... you'll officially charge me, right?"

Reynolds paused and nodded.

A cold smirk played on my lips, a chilling glint in my eyes.

"Fine. Get your car ready. I'll take you to his body right now."