“You,” she snapped, pointing at me. “This is all your fault.”
My stomach dropped.
“Ma’am,” one of the officers said calmly, “were you caring for Mrs. Whitmore?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“She robbed her,” Sarah cut in. “She manipulated her. The safe is empty. Everything’s gone. Jewelry, cash—everything. And now we find out she changed the will? A month ago?”
The world tilted.
“I didn’t take anything,” I said, my voice shaking. “I would never—”
“You think we’re stupid?” Sarah sneered.
The officer stepped forward.
“Ma’am, we need you to come with us.”
And just like that—
My life stopped feeling like my own.
The interrogation room felt like a different world.
Cold.
Gray.
Unforgiving.
I told them everything.
Every visit.
Every meal.
Every moment.
But the more I spoke, the worse it sounded.
Access to the house.
A sudden change in the will.
Missing valuables.
A lonely old woman.
And me—the only constant.
“It doesn’t look good,” the detective admitted.
I felt like I was drowning.
Then the door opened.
And everything changed.
Mr. Davis walked in.
Calm.
Precise.
Unshaken.
“End this,” he said simply.
He placed a laptop on the table.
And pressed play.
She appeared on the screen.
Alive.
Clear.
Certain.
“My name is Eleanor Whitmore…”
