Chapter 6 - Unraveling Brooke
In Interview Room 4 of the county jail, Brooke Keating had completely lost the glossy sheen of high-society glamour.
Her manicured acrylic nails were chipped from clawing at the metal table, her eyes were swollen nearly shut from crying, and her designer blouse was rumpled and foul. Across the stainless-steel table sat Assistant District Attorney Elena Cruz and lead investigator Detective Miller.
Between them sat a digital audio recorder, its red LED light blinking silently.
"Your father called again, Brooke," Cruz said smoothly, leaning forward. "He didn't call to ask how you were doing. He called to inform the court that he is formally resigning from the board of Keating Industries to distance the family brand from your felony charges."
"He... he can't do that," Brooke gasped, her voice trembling violently. "I'm his only daughter!"
"You're a public disaster," Cruz replied without an ounce of sympathy. "You attacked an eight-month-pregnant woman on four different security camera feeds. One of those feeds has crystal-clear audio of you saying, *'This will teach you to stay out of my way.'* That qualifies as aggravated battery with intent to cause great bodily harm to an unborn child. You are looking at a mandatory minimum of twelve years in a state correctional facility."
Brooke began to shake uncontrollably. "Twelve years? No! No, Grant told me it would be a misdemeanor! He said his lawyer would get it reduced to an infraction and we'd pay a five-thousand-dollar fine!"
Cruz exchanged a brief, knowing glance with Detective Miller.
"Grant used you, Brooke," Cruz said, her tone softening just enough to dangle the hook. "Grant was never going to leave his wife for you. The entire Whitmore fortune is tied up in Avery’s family trusts. If Grant divorced Avery cleanly, he would have walked away with pennies. He needed Avery declared legally incompetent so he could take full guardianship of her, her assets, and the baby."
"He told me he loved me!" Brooke sobbed, burying her face in her hands. "He swore we were going to the Maldives as soon as the custody paperwork went through!"
"If you were his great love, why did he let you throw the punch?" Miller asked quietly. "Why didn't he touch her? Because Grant knew the criminal code. He knew that the person who initiated physical violence takes the Class B felony charge, while the instigator hides behind plausible deniability. He set you up to be his battering ram."
Brooke froze. Her hands slowly dropped from her face. The realization hit her like a bucket of freezing water.
"He... he had a second phone," Brooke whispered, her voice suddenly vacant, hollow.
Cruz kept her face completely neutral. "What second phone, Brooke?"
"He told me never to speak about it," Brooke breathed, her eyes widening as the dam broke. "It’s an encrypted satellite device. He keeps it inside the false bottom of the antique grandfather clock in his private office at the penthouse. Not the company office—the penthouse."
"What's on it?" Miller pressed.
"Everything," Brooke said, tears streaming down her cheeks, but now fueled by raw, boiling hatred. "The account numbers in the Cayman Islands. The wire transfers he used to pay off the building inspectors for the harbor warehouse project. And... and the messages."
"What messages, Brooke?" Cruz asked.
"He didn't just want her in an asylum," Brooke confessed, her voice shaking with terror. "Two months ago, he met with a man named Vance—no, not her father, someone named Miller or Vance, some private contractor from overseas. Grant was asking how much it would cost to make a car accident look like brake failure on the mountain pass."
Cruz’s pen stopped moving. The air in the interrogation room turned sub-zero.
"Are you telling me under oath," Cruz said with chilling intensity, "that Grant Whitmore actively solicited a contract killing on his pregnant wife?"
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"The passcode to the phone is the date of his first million-dollar trade," Brooke wept openly. "0-9-1-4-1-8. Please... please don't send me to prison. He was going to kill her."
***
