I came home to visit my elderly mother, but when I offered to help bathe her,

Three weeks after the arrests, the Hennepin County District Attorney’s Office called a formal disposition conference at the county judicial center.

Inside Interrogation Room B, Amber sat across from State Prosecutor Sarah Jenkins. She was dressed in an orange county jail jumpsuit, her hands chained to a heavy leather waist belt. Her manicured, high-society appearance had vanished completely; her hair was unstyled, her skin pale and deeply lined, dark purple circles carved beneath her hollow eyes.

Sitting in the observation room behind the two-way mirror were Detective Marcus Miller, Thomas Brennan, and myself.

Prosecutor Jenkins laid three thick folders flat on the metal table in front of Amber.

“Mrs. Morrison,” Prosecutor Jenkins began, her voice flat, clinical, and devoid of mercy. “The grand jury has returned a sixteen-count indictment against you and Julian Vance, including First-Degree Identity Theft, Bank Fraud, Premeditated Poisoning with Intent to Incapacitate, Grand Larcenary, and Corporate Forgery.”

Amber began to weep hysterically, her body shaking violently against her chains. “It... it was Julian’s idea!” she shrieked, her voice cracking against the bare walls. “Julian told me we were going broke! He said his real estate deal failed and that people in Chicago were threatening his life! He told me to use Derek’s name to get the loans!”

In the observation room, I watched her with cold detachment.

“You forged your husband’s signature thirty-four times, Amber,” Prosecutor Jenkins reminded her, pointing to the forensic handwriting reports. “You administered controlled neurotoxins to him every single night for two years. You attempted to steal four million dollars from your own children’s trust funds. That is not Julian’s doing. That is your own calculated greed.”

“I was desperate!” Amber sobbed, leaning forward over her chains. “I wanted a nice life! I wanted to belong to high society! Derek was just a boring engineer who didn't care about status! Sylvia had millions and refused to share it with us!”

Prosecutor Jenkins closed the folder with a sharp SNAP.

“Sylvia Morrison paid your wedding, your house deposit, your groceries, and your children’s medical bills, Mrs. Morrison,” Jenkins stated flatly. “You didn't want a nice life. You wanted an empire built on stolen blood.”

Jenkins stood up from her chair, stepping toward the door.

“The State is offering zero plea bargains,” Jenkins announced coldly. “We are taking this case to a jury trial, and we are seeking the statutory maximum penalty for every single count.”