ADVERTISEMENT
At the station, the nightmare became intentional. My parents arrived before any attorney did. Madison came with them. My mother told the detectives I had been “secretive lately.” My father claimed he had seen me hiding something in my trunk. Madison said she had begged me to seek help. Every lie sounded far too polished to be spontaneous.
My father leaned forward across the metal table. “If you transfer the $400,000 to us tonight, we can still control this.”
I stared at him, too stunned to speak.
It was blackmail—clean, calculated blackmail.
I refused to sign anything.