Chapter 4: Family Fury and Blood Money

Leaving the interrogation room, I barely had time to catch my breath before my mother-in-law came at me like a hurricane. Her nails dug into my skin, and her perfume—once comforting—hit me like a punch. I couldn’t even look her in the eye as she screamed, “You killed my daughter! You killed her! You pay for her life!”

I was too slow to react—her nails raked my face and neck, leaving me bleeding. Thank God we were at the police station. Officers pulled her off me. Someone handed me paper towels. I pressed them to my face, feeling the sting, staring at the broken man in the glass.

“If you really think I wronged Rachel, show me the evidence.”

“Evidence? My daughter’s dead and you’re alive! You think you can get her money? Dream on!”

She tried to grab me again. I just stared at her, helpless. She used to bake us Christmas cookies; now she was all grief and rage.

“Arrest him! He killed my daughter! He should die for it!” she screamed at the police.

“There’s no evidence. We can’t arrest him,” said the female officer.

“What do you mean? If you cover for him, you’ll regret it!”

Even the cops looked rattled. “Whoever accuses must show proof. If you can’t, it’s a false report. We could detain you.”

“Hmph, you know who I am—” she started, but then stopped. “Evidence? I’ve got plenty!”

She glared at me before leaving. “Just wait. Everything you took, I’ll make you give back!”

She sped off in her Mercedes. The detective behind me muttered, “What did you take that she wants back?”

I forced a weak smile. “Probably the house money. I planned to return it after the funeral, but… well.”

“So they’re afraid you won’t give the money back, so they accused you of murder?”

I just sighed and let it hang in the air. Money and grief—nothing makes people turn faster.

The detective’s eyes bored into me. In America, it’s never just about justice—it’s about the money left behind.