The Final Alibi
January 11, 2025
The grand mansion on Brighton Hill was a picture of luxury, but the body sprawled across the polished mahogany floor told a different story. Vincent Delacroix, a notorious real estate tycoon, lay lifeless in his study. A decanter of whiskey and two glasses stood on the desk, one untouched.
Detective Evelyn Shaw adjusted the cuffs of her blazer as she surveyed the scene. The room was immaculate, save for the blood pooling beneath Vincent’s head. The weapon—a sleek revolver—rested a few feet away, its grip wiped clean.
Her partner, Detective Lucas Grant, shook his head as he studied the scene. “This doesn’t scream break-in. Whoever did this was invited.”
Evelyn nodded, noting the lack of forced entry and the half-smoked cigar still smoldering in the ashtray. “Vincent knew his killer. Let’s see who benefited most from his death.”
The initial interviews pointed to three suspects: Vincent’s wife, Claudia; his business partner, Mark Langston; and his estranged daughter, Sophie.
Claudia was the first to speak, her grief expertly performed. “Vincent and I may have had our disagreements, but I loved him,” she said, dabbing at her dry eyes with a silk handkerchief.
Evelyn arched an eyebrow. “Disagreements like the prenup he refused to void?”
Claudia stiffened. “I didn’t need his money. I have my own.”
“Convenient,” Lucas said, flipping through his notes. “Because if he died, you’d inherit everything despite the prenup.”
Claudia’s lips thinned, but she said nothing.
Next, they turned to Mark Langston, who was less composed.
“I had no reason to kill Vincent!” Mark insisted, pacing in the interrogation room. “Sure, we had a fight. He was planning to sell our company, and I was against it, but that doesn’t mean I killed him.”
“Your argument got heated enough for security to intervene,” Evelyn said, tapping her pen on the table. “That’s not just a disagreement, Mark. That’s motive.”
Mark ran a hand through his thinning hair. “Look, I was furious, but I didn’t shoot him. You should be looking at Sophie. She hated his guts.”
Sophie Delacroix, a young woman with sharp eyes and a sharper tongue, didn’t deny her animosity.
“My father was a tyrant,” she said coldly. “He controlled every aspect of my life. I cut ties with him years ago.”
Evelyn leaned forward. “But you showed up here last night, didn’t you? Security logs show your car entering the estate.”
Sophie hesitated. “Fine, I went to confront him. He owed me an apology for the way he treated me and my mother. We argued, but when I left, he was still alive.”
Lucas smirked. “And we’re supposed to take your word for it?”
“Check the cameras,” Sophie snapped. “You’ll see me leave.”
The security footage confirmed Sophie’s claim, but it also revealed something else: Claudia slipping into Vincent’s study moments after Sophie left.
Evelyn and Lucas returned to the mansion, confronting Claudia in her lavish sitting room.
“You lied about last night,” Evelyn said. “We know you were in the study after Sophie left. Care to explain?”
Claudia’s façade cracked, her hands trembling. “I went to talk to Vincent. He was already dead when I got there! I panicked and wiped the gun, but I didn’t kill him.”
Lucas frowned. “If not you, then who?”
Claudia’s gaze dropped. “Mark. He called Vincent earlier, threatening to stop the sale by any means necessary.”
With Claudia’s statement, they brought Mark back in. Under pressure, his calm demeanor faltered.
“Vincent was going to ruin everything!” Mark shouted. “Selling the company would’ve left me with nothing. He didn’t care about anyone but himself!”
“So you killed him,” Evelyn said.
Mark slumped in his chair, defeated. “I didn’t mean for it to end this way. I just… I lost control.”
As Mark was escorted away, Evelyn stood in the mansion’s study, the smell of cigar smoke still lingering.
“Money, power, greed,” she muttered. “It always comes down to the same things.”
Lucas nodded, glancing at the decanter on the desk. “And someone always pays the price.”
Evelyn sighed, already anticipating the next twisted case waiting in the shadows.