Chapter 6 - The Police Report
The transatlantic call connected with a sharp electronic click.
“Mrs. Vance?” Detective Miller’s voice was dry, professional, and entirely desensitized to family drama. “This is Detective Miller from the 14th Precinct. I’m calling regarding the incident at the 54th Street residential garage involving a Ms. Chloe Reynolds.”
I looked out across the Amalfi cliffs. Daniel stood five feet away, giving me space, though his presence was an anchor of quiet support.
“Yes, Detective,” I said, my voice steady. “I’m here.”
“We have Ms. Reynolds in holding,” Miller said, the rustle of case files audible over the line. “Her defense attorney, along with her mother, Eleanor Reynolds, are claiming that this was a civil misunderstanding. They allege that Ms. Reynolds had express verbal authorization from you, her sister, to retrieve the vehicle for maintenance and temporary storage while you were abroad. We need your on-the-record statement before we finalize the indictment.”
I closed my eyes for a single second.
In that second, twenty years flashed through my mind.
I saw Chloe at sixteen, pouring bleach over my favorite coat because I refused to let her borrow it to a party. I saw Eleanor standing over me, forcing me to apologize to Chloe for leaving the coat where she could reach it. I saw Chloe laughing at my wedding reception, her eyes glinting with the absolute conviction that whatever was mine belonged to her by divine right.
If I saved her today, she wouldn't thank me. She would despise me even more for having the power to save her. She would spend the rest of her life telling everyone that I had her arrested out of spite.
“Detective Miller,” I said, opening my eyes to the brilliant, unforgiving sunlight. “My sister did not have permission to touch that car.”
A brief silence on the other end, followed by the sound of a pen clicking. “Did she have permission to enter your penthouse apartment to retrieve the key fob?”
“No. I never gave her a key to my home. The key fob was stolen from my private residence two weeks ago during an unchaperoned visit. I never authorized her to drive the car, store the car, or enter that garage. She committed a theft, Detective. And I want the charges pursued to the fullest extent of the law.”
“Understood, Mrs. Vance,” Detective Miller replied, his tone shifting into formal efficiency. “A digital affidavit will be transmitted to your legal counsel for electronic signature. The state will proceed with the felony indictment for Grand Larceny in the Second Degree.”
The call ended.
Within thirty seconds of hanging up, my personal phone—which I had turned back on specifically for the police call—exploded with an incoming FaceTime request.
*Mom.*
I stared at the screen. Daniel stepped forward, his hand hovering over the red decline button, but I shook my head.
“No,” I told him, a strange, crystalline calm settling deep into my bones. “Put it on speaker. Let’s finish this.”
I pressed accept.
The screen flickered, revealing Eleanor sitting in what appeared to be the hallway of a municipal courthouse. Her hair was unkempt, her makeup smudged, her clothes rumpled from spending twelve hours in a police station waiting room. When she saw my face, her voice broke into a hysterical, jagged sob.
“Mia! Oh, thank God! Mia, you have to fix this right now! The police are refusing to release Chloe! They’re talking about Rikers Island, Mia! Rikers! For your baby sister!”
“Chloe is twenty-four years old, Mom,” I said evenly. “She isn't a baby. She’s a grown woman who committed a felony.”
“She made a mistake!” Eleanor shrieked, attracting the attention of people passing by in the courthouse hallway. “She thought you wouldn't mind! She wanted to surprise you by having it detailed for when you came home!”
“She stole the key from my desk, Mom,” I said, refusing to let her rewrite reality. “You stole it. You gave it to her. You are an accessory to grand larceny.”
Eleanor’s tears vanished with terrifying speed, replaced by a contorted sneer of raw malice. “You listen to me, you little sociopath. If my daughter spends one night in a cell, I will burn your life to the ground. I will call every reporter in the city. I will tell the Vance family’s corporate board that you are an unstable, vindictive grifter who is tearing our family apart! I will hire a forensic accountant to audit every single dollar you ever earned!”
“I welcome that audit, Eleanor,” a deep, resonant voice cut in.
Daniel leaned over my shoulder, staring straight into the camera lens with a cold, mocking smile.
“In fact,” Daniel continued, “my family’s forensic accounting firm has already been working for the past seventy-two hours. They didn't start with Mia’s finances, Eleanor. They started with yours.”
Eleanor froze. The color drained from her face so rapidly she looked like a corpse.
“What... what are you talking about?” she stammered.
“We’ll see you in court on Monday, Eleanor,” Daniel said softly. “Make sure you have an attorney who specializes in financial fraud. You’re going to need one much more than Chloe will.”
He ended the call, leaving Eleanor staring into a dead screen.
I looked at Daniel, my heart thumping against my ribs. “Daniel... what did your accountants find?”
May you like
“Mia,” Daniel said, pulling a leather-bound folder from his briefcase on the terrace table, “your mother didn't just spend Chloe’s money. She spent yours. For the last fifteen years.”
***
