Chapter 24
[Marcus's POV]
The fluorescent lights in Interrogation Room 2 cast harsh shadows across Stella's face as she sat hunched over the metal table, her shoulders shaking with each sob. Her blonde hair had fallen across her face like a curtain, and her hands—still cuffed—trembled uncontrollably.
"I only wanted to knock him out with the ashtray and run away," she choked out between tears. "That's all. I just wanted to escape."
Sarah Chen leaned forward slightly from her position by the door, her notepad ready. "Stella, I need you to tell us exactly what happened that night. Start from the beginning."
I watched Stella's body language carefully—the way her fingers twisted together, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way she kept glancing toward the door as if looking for an escape route that didn't exist. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, but there was something else there. Relief, maybe. Like a dam had finally burst.
"I owe a lot of money," Stella whispered, her voice barely audible. "More than I can ever pay back."
"How much money, Stella?" I asked, keeping my tone neutral and professional.
She looked up at me, her mascara streaked down her cheeks in black lines. "I asked all my friends first. Nobody could lend me that much. That's when Brandon offered to help."
"Brandon offered to lend you money," I clarified, making notes. "What were his conditions?"
Stella's gaze dropped back to the table. Her shoulders tensed, and I could see her struggling with something. Shame, embarrassment—emotions that were making it difficult for her to continue.
"Stella," Sarah said gently, "we need to understand what led to Brandon's death. Nothing you tell us here will shock us. We've seen it all."
That seemed to break something loose in her. Stella took a shuddering breath and looked directly at me.
"It started small," she began, her voice growing stronger. "I just wanted a Coach handbag and some MAC makeup. Pretty things. I borrowed a few thousand dollars from this online service that advertised to college students."
I nodded, encouraging her to continue. Student loan debt was becoming an epidemic, and predatory lenders were targeting young people with increasing aggression.
"But the interest rates..." Stella shook her head. "They called it 'compound interest calculation,' but it was like watching a snowball roll downhill. Within six months, I owed over eighty thousand dollars."
Sarah's pen stopped moving. "Eighty thousand?"
"I kept borrowing from different companies, trying to pay off the first loan before my parents found out. I thought I could handle it, you know? I thought I was smart enough to beat the system." Stella let out a bitter laugh. "I was so stupid."
"That's when Brandon approached you?" I asked.
Stella nodded. "He'd been pursuing me around campus for months. Always bringing expensive gifts—Tiffany jewelry, designer purses. He'd make these grand gestures in front of everyone."
"What kind of gestures?"
"He'd wait outside my classes with flowers and champagne. Once he bought me a two-hundred-dollar bottle of perfume and when I said I couldn't accept it, he threw it in the trash can right there in the quad. Smashed the bottle against the concrete." Stella's voice grew quieter. "He said if I didn't want his gifts, nobody could have them."
I exchanged a glance with Sarah. This was classic predatory behavior—using expensive gifts to create obligation and guilt.
"My boyfriend Kyle got really upset about it," Stella continued. "He said Brandon was trying to buy me, and that I was letting it happen. We had this huge fight, and Kyle broke up with me."
"But you kept accepting Brandon's gifts," Sarah observed.
"Those designer things—I could never afford them in my entire life," Stella said, her voice breaking again. "A Chanel handbag, Lancôme perfume... He'd say things like, 'You deserve beautiful things, Stella. You shouldn't have to live like a poor person.'"
She paused, wiping her nose with the back of her cuffed hands. "And then he made his offer. He said he'd lend me ten thousand dollars to help with my debt, but I had to be his girlfriend."
"His girlfriend," I repeated. "What did that mean to him?"
"He wanted everyone to know I belonged to him. He'd announce it to his friends at the Bar, where I used to hang out sometimes. They'd all cheer and whistle, and Brandon would put his arm around me like I was some kind of trophy."
Stella's breathing became more rapid as she recalled the memory. "That night, his buddies started chanting for us to kiss. Brandon laughed and said if I drank a whole bottle of whiskey, I could leave without kissing him in front of everyone."
"You agreed to that?" Sarah asked.
"I needed that money so badly. The debt collectors were calling my parents' house. I was terrified they'd find out what I'd done." Stella looked up at us with desperate eyes. "So I drank it. The whole bottle. I don't remember anything after that until I woke up."
The room fell silent except for the hum of the ventilation system. I could feel the weight of what she was about to tell us.
"Where did you wake up?" I asked softly.
"Room 1005." Stella's voice became mechanical, distant. "All my clothes were gone. My underwear, everything. And I could feel... I knew what had happened."
Sarah stopped writing and looked up. "Stella, did Brandon rape you while you were unconscious?"
"When I woke up, he was already awake. Sitting in the chair, watching me. He said..." Stella's voice cracked. "He said, 'Good, you're awake. Now we can do it properly.'"
I felt my jaw clench, but I kept my expression neutral. "What happened next?"
"He got on top of me. I tried to push him away, but he was so much bigger. And then he put his hands around my throat." Stella touched her neck instinctively. "At first I thought he was just trying to hold me down, but he kept squeezing harder and harder."
Stella's voice became barely a whisper. "I couldn't breathe. I could feel myself getting dizzy, and there were spots in my vision. I thought he was going to kill me."
"The pressure on your throat—how long did it last?" Sarah asked.
"It felt like forever. He kept... he kept moving inside me while he was choking me. I could see in his eyes that he liked watching me struggle." Stella shuddered. "I started seeing black around the edges, and I knew I was going to die if I didn't do something."
"That's when you reached for the ashtray," I said.
Stella nodded. "It was glass, heavy. I grabbed it from the nightstand and hit him. At first I didn't use much force—I just wanted him to let go of my throat."
"But he didn't stop?"
"He got angrier. He squeezed harder and started hitting my face with his free hand. So I hit him again, harder this time." Stella looked directly at me. "I kept hitting him until he let go. I don't remember how many times. I just knew I had to be able to breathe again."