Flaws And All | A MJ FANFIC

|Chapter 37|

Police Department

Interrogation room

"Are you ready to talk?" the detective asked Maurice. Maurice sat slouched in the cold metal chair, the harsh light flickering above casting shadows on his weary face. His eyes darted from his lawyer to around the dimly lit room as he contemplated his next move.

The detective, a seasoned officer with a no-nonsense demeanor, awaited Maurice's response. "My client has no reason to talk, he has written a full confession" his lawyer began, "The agreement with the judge was a plea deal with the minimum sentence of 15 years with the opportunity at parole"

The other detective looked at the other officer stunned to know that the judge had already agreed to a plea deal. Maurice took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts before responding. The weight of the situation hung heavily in the air, the silence of the room only broken by the distant sounds of the bustling police station.

Maurice finally spoke, his voice betraying a mix of frustration and resignation, "Look, everything you need to know is on that bruh..." he started "...Look I never wanted none of this to get this far." As Maurice hesitated, a shadow of regret clouded his eyes. The detective leaned forward, his gaze unwavering. "You're in deep, Maurice. You can either cooperate and help us untangle this mess, or you can face the consequences alone."

Maurice sighed, a heavy burden weighing on his shoulders. "Fine, I'll talk. But I need protection. I know things that can put people in danger."

The detective nodded, signaling to the other officers in the room.

While Maurice's interrogation begins news of the attack swiftly disseminated through the media, not just due to its occurrence at the globally renowned pop star Michael Jackson's concert, but also because the target was none other than his undisclosed fiancée. A fiancée whose existence remained shrouded in mystery until now.

The Mount Sinai Hospital

New York, New York

"Mike you need to make a statement," John said sitting across the boardroom table, Michael rolled his eyes, he was tired of making statements, he was tired of these meetings, he was tired of the press, and all he wanted was for Amahle to wake up. "For what John?" Michael's frustration resonated in his voice, a weariness that went beyond the typical celebrity scrutiny. His focus remained on the hospital where Amahle fought for her life.

John leaned forward, concern etched across his face. "Mike, people need to know you're standing strong. The media is having a field day with this. If we don't control the narrative, they'll spin it in ways we can't predict." Michael ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit that betrayed his anxiety. "I don't give a fuck about the narrative, John. I care about her. I want her to wake up, and I want those responsible for this brought to justice."

John sighed, understanding the gravity of the situation. "We can do both, Mike, but we need to start by letting the public know that you're actively cooperating with the authorities and that she is receiving the best possible care. Your fans are worried, and they want to hear from you."

Michael nodded reluctantly, realizing the necessity of addressing the public. "Fine, but keep it brief. I don't want this turning into some media circus."

While John crafted a statement, a sense of helplessness clung to Michael. The hospital room appeared to be in a realm of its own, disconnected from the tumultuous world outside. The media frenzy heightened, with reporters delving into speculations about the motives behind the attack and attempting to uncover details about Michael's love life, eager to unveil the identity of his fiancée.