"Isabella Ashworth, you are under arrest for the murder of Charles Ashworth."
The words hung in the air, so incongruous with the situation that for a moment, no one moved. Isabella's composure, which had weathered countless corporate crises, finally cracked. Her face paled as she stared at the officer, the handcuffs glinting under the harsh fluorescent lights.
"This is absurd," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "My father died of heart failure nine years ago."
The lead officer's expression remained impassive. "We have evidence suggesting otherwise, Ms. Ashworth. Please turn around and place your hands behind your back."
Christina stepped forward despite her injuries. "Officer, there's been a mistake. We've just uncovered a security breach that threatens national—"
"Stand back, ma'am," another officer warned, moving to block Christina.
