Frowning, I entered the room to find her sprawled on the floor, clutching her son while weeping theatrically.
The sight of her forced tears and puffy face only served to irritate me further.
Without a word, I stood coldly by the door, my gaze fixed on them both.
Debbieâs sobs subsided after a few minutes under my scrutiny.
She wiped away non-existent tears and looked up.
âMr.
Pierce, what brings you here? Have you identified the true killer?â
Meeting her gaze with a neutral expression, I replied calmly, âThis is a transcript of a conversation obtained by hacking your phone.
I trust you recognize its contents.
â
I placed the transcript on the table in front of her.
The chat log dated back to this morning, just after news of Keenanâs death broke.
An unknown number messaged Debbie.
âYour husband died at Andrewâs manor.
If you want significant compensation, listen closely.
â
Debbie replied curtly, âWho are you? What do you want?â
âMy identity isnât important.
Just know your husband had an affair with Debra.
The evidence is on his phone; itâs a chat log with his assistant.
Andrew cares deeply for Debra.
As long as you accuse her of murder, Andrew will Likely react.
Thatâs your leverage for a hefty payout.
â
Debbie froze, her body going rigid.
She stared at the chat transcript, likely stunned that Iâd hacked her phone.
After a tense silence, she shook her head vehemently and denied everything.
âThis is a setup!
Iâve never seen these messages! My phone even went missing this morning.
Someone must have set me up!â
Andrewâs POV:
My patience snapped like a brittle twig.
Tired of Debbieâs nonsense, I flung Keenanâs phone right in front of her.
âLook sharp and see for yourself.
Every text from Keenan shows heâd been eyeing Debra!â
Debbie trembled, fixated on the phone as if it held the secrets of the universe.
Silence stretched between us.
I wasnât in the mood to coddle her.
âIf you need more proof, consider this: the IP address of the number that told Keenan to go to the room on the top floor last night wasnât in my manor.
That alone clears Debra of any wrongdoing.
â
Debbieâs head shot up, desperation written all over her face.
âBut that doesnât prove Debra didnât kill my husband!â
She was clinging to straws, and it was frustrating.
I looked at her sharply and stated firmly, âYour husbandâs death was caused by drug poisoning and excessive s@xual desire.
The waiter who died alongside him had no connection to Debra.
He purchased the aphrodisiac himself, so Debra had no opportunity to tamper with it.
â
Every clue pointed away from Debraâs involvement.
Debbieâs shoulders shook as she whispered, âNo way! Itâs that Debra, that snake, who killed my husband! Sheâs to blame!â
âDebbie Olson,â I warned, âDebra suffers too.
If you even think about framing her, not only will you see no money from me, but youâll also be broke in no time.
â