I lost the track of time and I wasn't certain if it has been fifteen minutes or an hour since they brought me into this interrogation room, and forced me to stay here. It was an ordinary interrogation room identical to the ones in crime shows. It was painted off white and it had nothing in it except for a metal table in the middle with two chairs on the opposite sides of it, and I was sitting on one of them. There was also a huge mirror on the wall which was actually a window allowing people on the other side to see into this room, but not allowing me to see them.

I wondered if Jake was standing on the other side, watching me sitting here. He was as cold as ice when he arrested me, he didn't open his mouth or even look at me after it. He brought me into the FBI building and handed me to some agents who took my fingerprints and mug shot. After that, I didn't see him again.

I wish he had let out all of his anger, disappointment, and hurt. I wish he had scolded me and told me that he hated me, that I was an awful person, but he didn't do any of that. He was just cold and apathetic the whole time which meant that he was hurt beyond words. I never meant for this to happen; I never meant to hurt Jake this much. All I wanted was to get myself out of trouble and finish everything related to the life of crime. I wanted to start fresh; to have a peaceful life, but little did I know.

I wish I could turn back in time to the moment when I first met Jake, I would have walked away and disappeared. I would have continued my life somewhere else and saved both of us all of this damage and pain. But, it was too late to regret my choices; the damage was already done. Now, the feeling of guilt was crushing me; knowing that I have caused a permanent scar that would never heal to the person I deeply loved more than anyone.

I sighed and moved my hands a little in order to relieve the chafing feeling the handcuffs were giving me before I put both of my hands on the metallic table with a clank. I have been sitting here by myself long enough, I guessed the people behind the glass were trying to break me by loading me with pressure to make their mission in making me confess to everything much easier. Little did they know, I was already broken and I didn't give a damn about what was going to happen next.

After a while, the door opened and a quiet old man with a file in his hand walked in, he looked at me with cold eyes before he closed the door after him, making the sound of it echo through the room. He walked over to the table and pulled the chair that was in front of me and sat on it. He opened the file and focused his eyes on it for a few moments before he looked at me with eyes that I was sure had persuaded so many criminals before me.

"So, Miss Lawrence, do you want a lawyer present?" he asked me, breaking the silence.

I shook my head, I really doubted that a lawyer would be able to do me any good.

"Okay, then," he said. "Do you know what you are charged with?"

"Yes," I answered, calmly.

"Good, that will make things much easier," he said with a cocky smile. Then he took a paper out of the file that was in front of him and showed it to me; it was a sketch of my face.

I was kind of shocked and confused at the same time. I got so busy wondering about what happened between me and Jake that I actually forgot to think about the fact of how the hell they did know that the thief was me.

The interrogator noticed my perplexed expressions. He took another paper out of the file, it was a picture taken of the museum before the heist. To be precise, it was taken at the time the fake alarm went on, and to my surprise, I was in the back of the photo with my face shown.

"A photographer took this photo by mistake and sent it to us, and after analyzing the photo through facial recognition, and trying to determine the features of the thief, this is the final sketch we got," the interrogator said, pointing at the sketch of my face.

To be honest, I was surprised. This was the first time ever for something like this to happen. I always used to be careful in situations like that, and I always took my precautions of every little detail. I was such an idiot, how didn't I notice the photographer at that time?

"So, Miss Lawrence, do you deny being at the Metropolitan Museum of Art on the day of the heist?" he asked me.

I hesitated a little, but then I answered uneasily. "No, I don't."

"Do you know anything about the Corridor in the Asylum painting?" he asked, focusing his gaze on me.

"Yes," I answered, not looking at him.

He crossed his arms and gave me the 'go on' look. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before I said. "I was the one who stole it."

I was guilty as charged and they did have a lot of evidence on me so denying wouldn't really be of any benefit to me. Besides, I didn't care what was going to happen anymore, so I would just give them the damn confession they wanted.

"So, do we have a confession, here?" he asked with a smirk. He probably got an answer that he already knew.

"Yes, I was the one who elaborated that heist," I admitted.

He looked at me with steady eyes. He put his hands on the table before starting to speak, "You do know that you are facing prison time starting from three to fifteen years, don't you?"

I didn't answer him.

"We could make a deal with you. Make sure you get a light sentence, and serve your time in a minimum-security prison maybe," he said.

I looked at him with interest. However, I knew it was something I wasn't probably going to like.

"We need you to tell us the names of whoever helped you during the heist," he said with an authorized tone.

Great, they want me to incriminate Eric with me, but there was no way in hell I was going to give them what they wanted. My life was already screwed up, I wasn't going to ruin my brother's too.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you but I hadn't had any help during that heist," I said, smoothly.

"Oh come on, you must have had at least one person helping you from the outside," he said, not convinced by what I told him.

I shook my head, making sure to maintain a poker face so he wouldn't recognize any signals of lying.

"All of the surveillance cameras and security alarms were off during the time of the heist which means that someone had hacked into the museum's system and turned all of them off," he said, sternly. "Are you telling me that you have managed to do everything all by yourself?"

"Yes," I answered casually, looking at him in the eye.

He frowned his eyes at me not believing me for a second, then he flipped some papers in the file before looking at me again. "Who sold the painting to Alexander Hunter?"

Damn it, Jake told me that they knew that the seller was a man. It wouldn't be easy to prove otherwise.

I took a deep breath before I said. "I gave it to a middleman who delivered it to Hunter."

"You know that Mr. Declan got arrested, and when asked about the seller, he said that a man gave him the painting," he said, looking at with a challenging look.

"Yes, I didn't meet him in person," I lied. "I paid a homeless man to give Declan the painting instead of me as I didn't want to reveal my true identity to him. It was in a cylindrical container inside of a bag and the man had no idea about what was inside of it."

I didn't even convince myself but it was the best thing I could come up with at the moment.

"Do you know his name or where to find him?" he asked me again, he was trying to load me up with questions and push me off the cliff.

"No, I told you that he was just a homeless man looking for some easy money. He has nothing to do with it," I answered, refusing to give up.

"How did Declan give you the money, then?" he asked, raising one of his eyebrows.

"I didn't receive the money in cash, he sent it to one of my secure accounts," I said, still focusing my gaze on him.

He narrowed his eyes at me, he wasn't convinced but I knew that he would go with it. They already have me and I was willing to take the whole responsibility. Besides, they didn't have enough evidence to incriminate Eric or any other suspect.

"Fine." He sighed. "Do you know anything about the painting's whereabouts?"

"Well, I know that Hunter managed to get it out of the country. I don't know where he took it, but I believe it's somewhere in Europe. Paris maybe," I answered, truthfully. I never liked Hunter so I didn't mind if they found him.

"Are you sure?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Not really," I answered. "But judging by how the black market works, Europe is the most secure place to hide the painting from the FBI."

"But, we have the Interpol keeping an eye for it there," he said.

"Well, he could be hiding the real one by making a couple of forgeries and featuring them on the black market to deceive the Interpol," I told him. That was one of the popular ways in the black market to hide something from the feds or the Interpol.

He nodded. "I guess that piece of information will help both of us a lot." Then, he took a gander at his file before looking at me again. "Fine, Miss Lawrence, I think we are finished here. Are you aware of what is going to happen next?"

I sighed and nodded. Of course, I was going to be sent to a federal detention center until the day of my trial. He nodded before he stood up from his chair, then he walked outside of the room.

After he got out of the room, a couple of US marshals walked in. One of them came and unlocked my handcuffs.

"Stand up," he said in an authorized, harsh tone.

I stood up. He handcuffed me again, this time with my hands behind my back. After that, I walked with them to the outside of the room. My gaze wandered around the place looking for a certain person but he was nowhere to be found.

I sighed before I compliantly walked away with the two agents who were escorting me.

God, how did I let things reach this point...