Handcuffs clicked around my wrists, cold metal biting into my skin. I didn't resist. Around us, police officers buzzed about the crime scene, taking photos of Uncle Gideon's body slumped against the wall, that rusty metal rod still protruding from his chest.
"Elara Dubois, you're under arrest for the murder of Gideon Thorne," Detective Miller announced, his voice carrying through the abandoned building.
Arthur stepped forward. "This is ridiculous. It was clearly self-defense."
I caught his eye and shook my head slightly. Arguing now would only make things worse. Besides, I knew how this looked—the illegitimate daughter meeting secretly with her uncle who ended up dead. Money involved. Bad blood between families.
A woman in a white coat entered the room, her heels clicking sharply against the concrete floor. Something about her seemed familiar—the tight ponytail, the precise movements, the way she carried herself with such certainty.
