Chapter 6 - The Interrogation Room
Inside Interrogation Room B at the Multnomah County Sheriff’s Headquarters, the air was sterile and cold.
Richard Mitchell sat at the stainless-steel table, wearing a gray county detention jumpsuit. His hands were cuffed to an iron ring bolted to the center of the table. Sitting across from him were Detective Marcus Miller and State Prosecutor Sarah Jenkins.
Sitting behind the two-way glass mirror in the observation booth were my attorney, Sarah Jenkins’s associate, and myself.
Prosecutor Jenkins laid three thick black binders flat on the metal table in front of my father.
“Mr. Mitchell,” Prosecutor Jenkins began, her voice flat, clinical, and devoid of emotion. “We have reviewed the forensic bank records, the digital IP logs from your home computer, and the physical handwriting analysis reports.”
Richard leaned forward as far as his chains would allow, trying to project his usual domineering confidence. “Look, Prosecutor, this entire situation is a massive family misunderstanding. Haley is a young, emotional girl who got upset because we sold her car to pay for her brother’s education. In our family, we share resources! I had her implied consent to manage her financial accounts!”
Detective Miller let out a short, cold chuckle. “Implied consent, Mr. Mitchell?”
Detective Miller pressed a button on his laptop.
The digital screen mounted on the interrogation room wall lit up, displaying high-definition 4K video footage retrieved from the security cameras at Valley Motors.
The video clearly showed Richard sitting at Greg Miller’s desk on the morning of my birthday. The audio was crystal clear:
Greg Miller’s recorded voice: “Richard, are you sure Haley is okay with this? Her name is the only one on the title.”
Richard’s recorded voice on tape: “She doesn't know, Greg, and she doesn't need to know. She’s a pushover. She’ll cry for a couple of days, but she won't do anything. Just stamp the paper and give me the eight thousand in cash before she finishes her hospital shift.”
Richard’s face drained of every last drop of color. His jaw hung open, his eyes bulging as he stared at his own image on the screen, bragging about how weak and compliant he believed I was.
“And then we have Exhibit B,” Prosecutor Jenkins added, flipping open the second binder. “These are the online credit card applications submitted from your home IP address using Haley’s Social Security number, her birth date, and a forged secondary email address created by you.”
“I... I was going to pay it back!” Richard stammered, his arrogant posture completely shattering into pathetic, sweating panic. “As soon as my real estate investment cleared, I was going to pay off the credit cards! I did it for my kids!”
“You didn't do it for your kids, Richard,” Detective Miller corrected ruthlessly. “You did it because you’re a financial parasite who exploited your eldest daughter’s hard work to cover your gambling losses and maintain a fake middle-class image.”
In the observation room, I watched my father through the two-way mirror.
There was no sadness left in my heart. No guilt. No longing for a father’s love that had never truly existed. I felt only a profound, weightless peace.
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“The grand jury has returned a 14-count felony indictment against you and your wife,” Prosecutor Jenkins informed him coldly. “Given the overwhelming digital and video evidence, the State will be seeking maximum statutory penalties.”
Richard collapsed forward against the metal table, letting out an agonizing, broken sob as the cold steel chains clanked loudly against the iron ring.
