screen of my smartphone buffered for a fraction of a second before the encrypted 4K video feed flared to life.
The contrast between the sterile, nauseatingly bright interrogation room and the warm, amber-lit luxury of my parents’ sprawling Connecticut living room was jarring.
The hidden camera, nested discreetly inside a digital thermostat on the far wall, captured the entire room with flawless wide-angle precision.
The audio was pristine, picking up the crackle of the gas fireplace and the heavy, terrified silence of three guilty people.
Detective Vance leaned in so
