8
"Intoxicated?" The bald journalist raised an eyebrow skeptically, his tone dripping with doubt. "Are you claiming that being drunk led you to torch the factory? Didn't you previously mention going there to obtain financial records for your spouse? How does that align with being inebriated?"
Harvey squirmed uneasily on the mattress. Perspiration beaded on his brow, his digits clutching the blanket's edge as if it were a lifeline. "This... this isn't necessarily contradictory, is it?" His voice was strained, his feigned composure betraying the underlying tension.
The journalist's intense stare bore into him relentlessly. Around us, the throng muttered like an unsettled swarm, their whispers coalescing into an accusing buzz. The snapping of cameras intensified, each flash illuminating Harvey's crumbling facade.