Here's what happened

Forestons didn't have a jail cell, quite frankly, Forestons didn't have a lot of regular police matters. We weren't the police, I understood that but keeping someone in just a room doesn't seem as safe as it could be.

The room we used as our holding cell was a stark white with a cold gray table in the middle. It was a mix between an interrogation room and a padded room.

Roy Thurman's hands and feet were shackled together which were then shackled to the ground. It looked like something in a horror movie. Behind the table, he sat with a scowl and red hot eyes.

For a while, we let him sit there and stew. Thurman didn't make a sound or move, he seemed to barely blink! He looked unnatural, sometimes not even human.

"Now what?" I finally broke the silence. We were all nose to the glass, staring at him.
"I will go question him, hope to get a confession."
"What if we can't? What if he doesn't talk?" I voiced my concerns.
"He will," Joe answered. I looked over at Mr. Gold. He stared blankly in at Thurman. They both had the same cold stare.

Mr. Gold sat across from Thurman. I have to admit, he looked like a badass right now, I think it's the prim and proper thing that makes him look so cool. Thurman slouched, fiddling with his hands on the table. Mr. Gold sat tight backed with his hands neatly folded on the table, not moving a muscle.
"He's gotten many men to confess in that room." Joe watched in admiration.
"How does he do it?" I whispered.
"Man of many talents." I smiled, he was.

After over an hour of going around and around with no headway being made, it was time for something different.
"What type of person is he?" I asked Joe.
"What?" Bryson looked at me. Joe blinked a few times before answering.
"He's careful, causes. He doesn't act impulsively and is very thought out." Of course, he was, that's why this flew under the radar. "He's narcissistic and materialistic."
"Perfect!" I tapped on the glass. Mr. Gold turned around and nodded.
"What are you doing?" Bryson grabbed my arm as I walked by.
"But he's dangerous."
"Trust me." I smiled.

Truth being I have no idea what I'm doing, I think that was apparent. I've always been a good sleuth, my stepbrothers fold like a napkin to me. To Mike, their dad, their lips were stronger than steel. On an off chance I might be good at it, I gave getting the confession myself a shot.

Without asking, I entered the room as Mr. Gold came out and closed the door.
"Sending in the Campbell girl," he chuckled hollowly. "Nice try." He rolled his eyes. Choosing to ignore his comment, I sat down.
"So, how's it going?" I leaned on the table. He looked at me, baffled. "You know, here." I gestured to the area between us.
"Been better?"
"Mm, me too. You thinking about that loose end, huh?"
"What lose end? I don't have any loose ends." Faking, I winced.
"Oh, awkward." I glanced over my shoulder at the mirror. "Who's gonna tell him?"
"What lose end?" He snapped. The cold look flashing on his face again.
"Oh, I don't think I should tell you."
"Then you're lying."
"It's the one that got you caught."
"I have cleaned up every loose end!"
"Have you?"
"Yes!"
"I don't believe you. I bet you made so many mistakes along the way." The color in his eyes darkens as his head shifted down slightly. He looked like he did when he first got here, almost inhuman.
"I never made any mistakes. It was an easy plan. I bought an old paper mill in that podunk town. I printed off the money. Loads and loads of fake money. It only took a day to learn how to use the machines." The confession flowed like a waterfall from his lips. "Eventually, the work got too much for us to handle by ourselves so I went to the bank in town. The bank manager was just as pathetic as I was hoping for. His house was on the brink of foreclosure! He gladly offered his assistance if he could be a part of it." He smirked maliciously.
"Ah yes, a shame. Who was us, though? Wembley obviously wasn't involved at first."
"My business partner Lucas Redra, of course." He snipped.
"Do you know what your worse offense is? Being a narcissist. You can't help but talk about yourself!" I chuckled loudly. "And how could you not? I mean, you're the real mastermind behind all of this, right? It was never Redra." He sat there wearing a smug expression, I had him hooked.
"I am, yes."
"I mean really, the fine print you had was spectacular! Trading the fake cash through the bank for the real dough." I shook my head. He grinned. "Nice touch. Getting the bank involved."
"Wembley was pretty easy to fool."
"Oh I'm sure, cut him in on the deal. Or so he thought, but I have an inkling that he was getting fake cash too." He chuckled.
"So stupid. Never once thought to question the bills. Then when his services were no longer needed, we took care of him."
"The cookies, right? Nut allergies?"
"He trusted us so much he didn't carry his allergy medication anymore! Really I felt bad, he was just so easy." I shook my head.
"Poor Wembley. At least he's in a better place than you'll be." His jaw tightened. "Oh, is orange your color?" He furrowed his brows.
"No, not really." I smiled.
"Well, it's about to be." Without another word, I left the room as he screams profanities at me.
"You're going to fucking pay for this you bitch!"

I walked into the room. Both Bryson and Joe stood there wide-eyed. I was supersized too. It worked. We had a full confession from Thurman. We could put this man away.
"The cops will be here soon." Bryson finally broke the silence. "I'm going to find Mr. Gold." I nodded still shocked at the events.