Chapter 249
Lance
Additional chairs were brought in, the metal legs scraping against the floor with a sound that set my teeth on edge. Calloway took the seat directly across from me, flanked by Thomas on one side and Arthur on the other. Eleanor positioned herself slightly apart, near the door, as if maintaining the option of escape.
The chief set his folder on the table with deliberate precision, then leaned back in his chair, studying me with the air of a man who held all the cards. Thomas and Arthur did the same, creating a tribunal of judgment across the scarred metal surface.
I smiled at them. Broadly. Warmly. The kind of smile that said I was genuinely delighted by their presence.
Arthur's brow furrowed. Thomas's mouth tightened almost imperceptibly. Eleanor's mask didn't crack, but I saw her fingers twitch against her thigh.
"Well, well," I said, my voice light and conversational. "Chief Calloway. How accommodating of you to arrange this little family reunion. I had no idea police interrogations were such social affairs these days."
Arthur shifted uncomfortably. "Lance, this isn't—we're not here to interrogate you. We're here to support you. To help you explain what happened."
"Support me," I repeated, tasting the words. "How touching." I turned my attention to Thomas, letting my smile sharpen into something with teeth. "Is that why you brought Calloway into this, Uncle? Because you wanted to support me? Or because he's been such a good friend to you over the years?"
Thomas's expression darkened, but he kept his voice level. "Lance, don't start with the conspiracy theories. We're here to help you. That's all."
"Of course you are." I leaned forward as much as the handcuffs would allow, never breaking eye contact with him. "Tell me, Uncle Thomas—how is Felix doing? Still breathing, I hope? It would be such a shame if he died before... well, before certain truths came to light."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Thomas's face went through a fascinating series of expressions—shock, anger, fear—before settling on something that approximated indignation. "What are you talking about? Felix was shot by your nephew's criminal associates. He's in the hospital recovering from surgery. And you're sitting here making jokes about it?"
I laughed. I couldn't help it. The sound echoed off the bare walls, harsh and humorless. "Oh, Uncle. I'm not joking at all. In fact, I'm relieved he survived. I'd hate for him to miss the grand finale."
Thomas opened his mouth—probably to deliver some prepared speech about family loyalty or my deteriorating mental state—but Calloway cut him off with a sharp gesture.
"Enough," the chief said, his voice carrying the weight of authority. He stood, picking up the manila folder and opening it with a theatrical flourish. Papers spilled across the table between us—witness statements, I assumed, or whatever fabricated evidence Thomas had managed to assemble. "Let's get down to business, shall we? Mr. Lawson, these are sworn statements from multiple members of the Obsidian Brotherhood. They all tell the same story."
He pulled out several pages, spreading them in front of me like a poker hand. His mouth opened, clearly preparing to deliver some damning accusation with maximum theatrical impact. "They say the attack on the Lawson estate last night was carried out under your—"
A sharp, deliberate cough cut through the room.
Arthur. My grandfather's hand was pressed to his mouth, his shoulders shaking slightly with the effort of the interruption. It wasn't subtle. It wasn't meant to be.
Calloway's eyes snapped toward him, irritation flickering across his face before being replaced by something more cautious. The chief and my grandfather locked gazes for a long moment—some unspoken negotiation happening in the space between them.
When Calloway turned back to me, his voice had lost some of its prosecutorial edge. The words came out softer, less certain. "They say the attack had something to do with you. That you were connected to the operation." He cleared his throat, as if trying to recapture his earlier authority and failing. "What do you have to say about that?"
I didn't even glance at the papers. Instead, I swept them off the table with my cuffed hands, sending them fluttering to the floor like wounded birds.
"Well," I said, my voice dripping with false cheerfulness. "Of course the attack had something to do with me. Don't be absurd."
The reaction was immediate and exactly what I'd expected. Thomas's eyes lit up with barely concealed triumph. Arthur made a small, wounded sound, his face crumpling. Eleanor's carefully maintained neutrality cracked, her mouth opening as if to object.
But I wasn't finished.