Read on to Chapter Two and discover how everything unfolds.

-6-

The Miami-Dade County police precinct was the absolute antithesis of the Faena Hotel. Instead of gold leaf and crystal chandeliers, the holding facility offered institutional green cinderblock walls, flickering fluorescent lights, and the heavy, lingering odor of industrial cleaning fluid mixed with the nervous sweat of hundred of detainees.

In a small, windowless interrogation room at the back of the precinct, my mother and sister sat across a scarred metal table. They weren't wearing their designer clothes anymore; courtesy of the asset seizure and the hotel's refusal to release their luggage until bills were settled, they were both clad in standard-issue grey holding facility jumpsuits.

I sat on the other side of the double-sided glass in the observation room next door, accompanied by Marcus Vance—who had flown down from Chicago on a red-eye flight just to oversee the final legal execution—and Detective Ramos, the lead investigator assigned to the case by the Miami police department.

“They’ve been in there for three hours,” Detective Ramos noted, tapping a pen against his clipboard. “Your mother spent the first two hours screaming that she wanted to speak to the governor, and your sister threw a styrofoam cup of water at the wall when we took away her cell phone.”

“Let them break,” Marcus said smoothly, sipping a paper cup of black coffee. “Isolation and the sudden realization of zero leverage are the best legal softeners in the business.”

Through the audio feed piped into our room, we listened as the heavy steel door of the interrogation room clicked open. Two local detectives stepped inside, tossing a thick stack of printed bank statements, text message transcripts, and high-resolution security stills onto the metal table in front of Jessi and Stephanie.

“Alright, ladies, let’s stop wasting the court’s time,” Detective Miller, the senior interrogator, said gruffly, pulling up a metal chair and sitting down. “We have your bank routing numbers, we have video surveillance of you draining your son and brother’s household accounts, and we have the medical records from St. Jude’s Hospital proving that your actions directly resulted in the severe medical neglect and near-fatal hypothermia of a two-year-old infant.”

Stephanie flinched, pulling her arms tightly around her chest, staring down at the table. “We didn't hurt anyone! We just took a vacation! Luca is a multi-millionaire, thirty-eight grand is literally nothing to him! This is a family dispute, it’s not a crime!”

“Ms. Rossi, grand larceny crossing state lines combined with infant endangerment resulting in hospitalization isn't a family dispute—it’s a felony rap carrying up to fifteen years in a federal penitentiary,” Detective Miller countered without blinking. “And right now, your mother is listed as the primary account holder who orchestrated the wire transfers. That means she’s looking at maximum federal time, while you’re looking at accessory before and after the fact.”

Jessi’s head snapped up, her face turning ashen. She looked at Stephanie, then back at the detective, her lips trembling. “Federal time? Fifteen years? No... no, that’s insane. My son wouldn't let the federal government put his own mother in prison over some petty cash!”

“Your son is sitting in the observation room right now, Mrs. Rossi, and he signed off on every single charge we filed this morning,” Detective Miller stated flatly, pointing a finger directly at the two-way mirror separating our rooms.

In the observation room, I didn't flinch. I kept my eyes locked on the mirror, knowing that even though they couldn't see me through the glass, they could feel the crushing weight of my presence.

Jessi slowly turned her head, staring directly into the reflective glass of the two-way mirror. For a terrifying, silent second, our eyes met—or at least, she stared at the exact spot where she knew I was standing.

“Luca...” Jessi whispered, her voice cracking, carrying a desperate, pleading tremor that bounced through our hidden speakers. “Luca, please... don't do this. I raised you. I gave up my entire life after your father passed away to make sure you had a future. Is this how you repay your own mother? Over a little money and a dramatic wife?”

I didn't speak out loud, but Marcus Vance, sensing the theatrical shift in the room, leaned over to Detective Ramos and muttered something into his ear.

A moment later, Detective Miller leaned across the metal table in the interrogation room.

“If you want to talk to your son, Mrs. Rossi, you’re going to have to do it through a guilty plea and full restitution of every single cent you stole,” Detective Miller said. “Otherwise, the next time you see Luca, it’ll be from across a courtroom while a judge hands down your sentence.”

Jessi buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with dry, hacking sobs of utter defeat. The illusion of her maternal invincibility had finally shattered against the cold, unyielding wall of federal law and my absolute, unforgiving resolve.