Chapter 4

"There's one more thing, Mr. Vance," Officer Miller said, his voice dropping slightly, pulling me back from the edge of despair. He held up another evidence bag. This one contained a few strands of hair. "We found these on the victim's jacket. Forensics did a rush analysis. They're a perfect match to you."

Biological evidence. The ace in their sleeve. In my past life, this was the point of no return. It was the "irrefutable proof" that had sealed my fate, convincing the jury and turning even my own family against me. Seeing it again, I felt a familiar wave of hopelessness.

But then, something else broke through the fog. A memory, sharp and agonizing, from that other life. My father, his face aged ten years in a matter of weeks, sitting across from me in a prison visiting room. His eyes, once so full of pride, were filled with a shattered, hollow look of disappointment. He had believed them. My mother had fallen into a deep depression, a ghost haunting the halls of our family home. They had been destroyed by the shame, by the public's hatred, by the son they believed was a monster.

The memory didn't break me this time. It ignited something within me. A fire of pure, unadulterated rage. I would not let that happen again. I would not let these people destroy my family. I would not let Chloe, that venomous snake, win. I would tear this whole conspiracy down, piece by rotten piece, even if it was the last thing I did.

My mind, suddenly clear and sharp, began to race, replaying every detail of my past life's downfall. I had been so blind, so consumed by my own innocence that I never stopped to think like a guilty man. I never questioned the motives of those closest to me.

Chloe. It all came back to her. Her constant, cloying sympathy. Her "helpfulness" in finding a lawyer who turned out to be incompetent. Her subtle ways of isolating me from my family, telling me they needed space, that seeing me was too painful for them. She hadn't been supporting me, she had been managing my destruction.

My phone, which an officer had placed on the hood of a patrol car, started ringing. The screen lit up with a picture of Chloe, smiling. Officer Miller raised an eyebrow. "You want to get that?"

"Put it on speaker," I said, my voice cold and hard.

Miller answered the call and held the phone out.

"Leo? Oh my god, Leo, I just saw the news! Are you okay?" Chloe's voice was a perfect symphony of panic and concern. It was a masterful performance, one that would have fooled me completely just a few hours ago.

"I'm fine, Chloe," I said, my tone flat.

"What happened? Where are you? The police are saying these horrible things... I told you that you should have stayed home! I was so worried when you ran out." Her words were a twisted tapestry of lies, each one designed to paint her as the worried fiancée and me as the unpredictable, unstable man who had run off to commit a crime.

But she made a mistake. A small one, but in my hyper-vigilant state, it was as loud as a gunshot.

"Don't worry, honey," she cooed. "I'm calling our lawyer right now. We'll get this all sorted out. They can't hold you for more than 48 hours without charging you, right? We'll have you out soon."

My blood ran cold. That was it. The detail. How would she know the standard 48-hour holding period for suspects? It wasn't common knowledge. It was something you'd know if you were a lawyer, a cop, or... someone who had meticulously planned a crime and needed to know the exact timeline for the next phase of their plan. She wasn't just reacting to the news, she was executing a pre-written script. Her question wasn't one of concern, it was one of logistics. She needed to know if I would be out of the way long enough for them to complete their frame-up.

The last piece of the puzzle clicked into place. The full gas tank. The planted watch. The hair sample. They needed time to plant all of it, and they couldn't do it if I was home. My sudden departure from the apartment hadn't ruined their plan; it had been a gift. It gave them access to my car, my belongings. They hadn't needed to lure me out to the coast road, they just needed me out of the apartment.

The rage inside me solidified into a cold, sharp point of certainty. I was done being the victim. It was time to fight back.

I looked straight at Officer Miller, my eyes burning with an intensity that made him take a half-step back.

"Her," I said, my voice ringing with conviction as I pointed at the phone still broadcasting Chloe's fake concern. "She's the one who did this. Chloe Benson is the mastermind behind this entire thing."