Marrying My Father's Enemy-Chapter 157: Henry’s Interrogation

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Chapter 157: Henry’s Interrogation

Chapter 157: Henry’s Interrogation

A single metal table separated Henry Blackwood from the two detectives sitting across from him.

The fluorescent light above cast a harsh, unforgiving glow on his face, highlighting the deep lines of exhaustion and strain.

His hands, still cuffed, rested heavily on the cold surface of the table.

A male detective, Lawson was a broad guy with a weathered face, leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed.

His partner, Detective Morrow, a younger and sharper presence, tapped a pen against a thin stack of papers, his gaze fixed on Henry with unsettling intensity.

"You’re in a lot of trouble, Mr. Blackwood," Lawson began.

Henry’s jaw tightened, his shoulders stiff as he met the detective’s gaze. "I already told you—I have nothing to say."

Morrow raised an eyebrow, glancing at Lawson.

"Nothing to say? That’s an interesting choice, considering what we have here." He flipped open a folder, sliding a document across the table toward Henry.

Henry didn’t look down. "I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I have no involvement in whatever this is."

Lawson let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "No involvement, huh? Let’s start with the forged documents. These signatures, these records... they all lead back to you. Care to explain that?"

"I don’t forge anything," Henry said evenly, though tension crossed his face.

Morrow leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly.

It"Really? Because this,"—he tapped the document—"is a property transfer from Marion Eldridge to one of your shell companies. Dated two days before her death. Funny how she suddenly decided to sign away her home, her assets, and everything she owned to you."

Henry’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t respond.

"Nothing to say about that?" Morrow prodded, his tone sharpening.

"I didn’t force Marion to do anything," Henry said, his voice steady but cold. "If she signed something, that was her choice. I don’t control other people’s decisions."

Lawson snorted, sitting forward now. "So you’re telling us it’s just a coincidence that Marion’s assets conveniently ended up in your hands? That’s a hell of a stroke of luck for you, isn’t it?"

Henry’s eyes narrowed, his composure cracking slightly. "I don’t have to explain myself to you."

"Oh, you will," Morrow said, his voice hard.

"Because this isn’t just about forged documents. Fraud, scams, embezzlement—we’re talking about years of manipulation, Henry. This is a web you’ve spun, and Marion wasn’t the only one caught in it."

Henry shifted in his seat, his jaw clenching. "You don’t know what you’re talking about."

Lawson leaned back, folding his arms again. "Then enlighten us. Because from where we’re sitting, it looks like you’ve been running scams for years. Forged contracts, siphoned funds, fake business ventures... Shall I go on?"

Henry’s silence was damning, and Morrow pounced on it.

"You’ve always been good at covering your tracks," Morrow said, his tone cold. "But not good enough. We’ve got bank records, email correspondences, and sworn testimonies that put you at the center of this. Every road leads back to you, Henry."

"That’s ridiculous," Henry snapped, his control slipping. "You’re twisting facts to fit your narrative. None of that proves I did anything illegal."

Lawson raised an eyebrow, his tone turning almost conversational.

"So you’re saying you’re just an innocent businessman who happens to end up with a lot of stolen money? And dead associates?"

Henry’s eyes flashed with anger, but he quickly masked it. "I didn’t kill Marion," he said firmly.

"We didn’t say you did," Morrow replied smoothly. "But now that you mention it..."

He pulled out another folder, this one containing photographs. He spread them across the table, each image a stark, haunting reminder of Marion’s death.

Henry’s gaze flickered to the photos before quickly looking away. "I didn’t kill her," he repeated, his voice lower now.

"Then explain this," Morrow pressed, pointing to a photo of a shattered glass bottle found at the scene. "This was found in her home. It matches the prints on the documents you forged."

"That’s not possible," Henry said immediately, his voice faltering.

"Not possible?" Lawson echoed, his voice rising slightly. "Henry, your prints are all over this case. The documents, the financial records, the crime scene. You want to convince us you had nothing to do with it? Start talking."

"I didn’t kill her!" Henry shouted, slamming his cuffed hands on the table. The sound echoed through the room, but the detectives remained unfazed.

Morrow tilted his head, studying him. "You keep saying that. But what about the rest? The fraud? The forged documents? The money you funneled through fake accounts? Are you denying all of that, too?"

Henry’s breathing grew heavier, his calm façade crumbling. "I don’t have to answer your questions," he muttered, his gaze dropping to the table.

Lawson leaned forward, his voice low and dangerous. "You don’t have to, sure. But every minute you sit there and say nothing, you dig yourself in deeper. The evidence is stacking up, Henry. If you want even a sliver of hope, you need to start cooperating."

Henry’s eyes darted between the detectives, his hands tightening into fists. "I told you—I didn’t force Marion to do anything. And I didn’t kill her. You’re wasting your time trying to pin this on me."

Morrow smirked, shaking his head. "You’re good, I’ll give you that. You’ve been slipping through cracks for years, covering your tracks, keeping yourself just out of reach. But it’s over now, Henry. The lies, the scams, the secrets—they’re all catching up to you."

"You don’t know what you’re talking about," Henry snapped again, though his voice lacked conviction.

"Oh, but we do," Lawson said, his tone almost mocking. "And we’re not the only ones. We’ve got witnesses, people you’ve crossed, people you’ve stolen from. And when this goes to trial, they’re all going to line up to bury you."

Henry’s jaw clenched so tightly it looked as though he might shatter his teeth. "This is a witch hunt," he muttered. "You’ve already decided I’m guilty, and you’re twisting everything to fit your story."

"No," Morrow said firmly, his voice cutting through the room like a blade.

"You did this to yourself. Every document, every account, every piece of evidence we’ve found—this isn’t our story, Henry. It’s yours."

The room fell into a tense silence, the air thick with unspoken accusations. Henry’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he stared down at the table, his mind racing.

Lawson leaned back, crossing his arms again.

"We’ll give you some time to think," he said, his tone cold. "But don’t take too long, Henry. The clock’s ticking."

Morrow gathered the folders, standing as Lawson did. They stepped toward the door, their movements deliberate and unhurried.

Before they left, Morrow turned back to Henry, his gaze sharp. "You’re not as untouchable as you think."

The door closed with a sharp click, leaving Henry alone in the oppressive silence of the interrogation room.

His shoulders sagged.

The walls seemed to close in around him, the weight of his choices pressing down like an iron vice.

He leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the table as he let out a shaky breath.

Despite his denials, despite the lies he clung to, he couldn’t escape the truth that loomed over him.

The walls of his empire were crumbling, and there was no one left to save him.

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