Chapter 8 - The Interrogation
Two weeks later, the Santa Clara County District Attorney's Office called a formal pre-trial hearing.
Inside Interrogation Room B at the county jail, Rosalind and Mason sat at a stainless-steel table. They were wearing orange jumpsuit uniforms, their hands handcuffed to iron rings bolted to the floorboards.
Sitting across from them was Deputy District Attorney Sarah Jenkins, alongside my attorney Marcus Vance and myself.
Rosalind looked fifteen years older. Her hair was unstyled, her face deeply lined, her arrogance completely shattered by fourteen days in a holding cell. Mason looked emaciated, dark circles carved under his eyes, his hands shaking constantly from withdrawal and terror.
"Mrs. Vance, Mr. Vance," Prosecutor Jenkins began, opening a thick black binder. "The grand jury has returned a 14-count indictment against both of you."
She read the charges in a flat, clinical voice:
Premeditated Grand Larceny
Corporate Forgery and Identity Theft
Felony Domestic Battery on a Pregnant Person
Premeditated Poisoning with Intent to Induce Abortifacient Harm
Commercial Burglary and RICO Financial Fraud
"Given the overwhelming video evidence, medical records, and recovered stolen assets," Jenkins continued, "the state is recommending a sentence of twenty-two years in state prison for Mason Vance, and fifteen years for Rosalind Vance."
"Fifteen years?!" Rosalind gasped, leaning forward as far as her chains would allow, tears streaming down her hollow cheeks. "I am sixty-eight years old! That is a life sentence! Ethan... my son... tell them to stop this! Tell them you forgive us!"
She looked at me with wild, desperate eyes, reaching her cuffed hands across the table.
"I am your mother, Ethan!" she sobbed. "I carried you for nine months! You can't let them put your own mother in prison!"
I sat perfectly still, looking at the woman who had brought me into the world.
"You carried me for nine months," I said, my voice low and steady. "And two weeks ago, you almost killed my daughter before she was ever born."
"It was Mason!" Rosalind suddenly shrieked, spinning around to point her chained finger directly at her favorite son. "He made me do it! He told me he needed the money! He bought the herbs! He told me to kick her! He threatened to abandon me if I didn't help him!"
Mason’s jaw dropped in absolute betrayal. "Mom?! What the hell are you saying?! You're the one who hated Daphne! You called her a peasant every single day!"
"You useless leech!" Rosalind screamed back at him, her face contorting into an ugly, demonic mask. "You dragged me into your gambling debts! You ruined my life!"
"Shut up! Both of you!" Prosecutor Jenkins barked, slamming her hand on the metal table.
The silence that followed was heavy and pathetic. Mother and son glared at each other with pure, toxic hatred, their unholy alliance completely destroyed.
I stood up from my chair, buttoned my coat, and looked down at them both.
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"I used to think family meant blood," I said softly. "I was wrong. Family is built on love, respect, and sacrifice. You two aren't my family. You're just two predators who got caught."
I turned my back on them and walked out of the room, leaving their frantic screams behind me.
