Chapter 6 - The Confession of an Accessory
The interrogation room at the 4th Precinct smelled of burnt coffee and industrial disinfectant. Vaughn sat to my left, while an Assistant District Attorney named Marcus Chen sat across from us with three thick binders.
The door opened, and Detective Ree Vance walked in, carrying a laptop and a manila envelope. Though she worked private security for the venue, her previous twenty years as an NYPD homicide investigator gave her immediate clout in the precinct.
"Kea folded," Ree said, setting the laptop down. "Took twenty minutes of looking at the obstruction charges. She gave up the group chat, the pre-planning messages, and the raw footage from her phone."
Marcus Chen opened Kea's file. "The chat log is damning. Three weeks ago, Deline created a private WhatsApp group called 'Wedding Clout.' Members: Deline Ward, Kea Miller, and two lifestyle influencers."
Chen turned the screen toward me.
*Deline: 'If Sloan shows up in that ugly metal harness, she's going to ruin my photos. I need to make her look ridiculous so people pay attention to me rescuing the situation.'*
*Kea: 'What if she falls?'*
*Deline: 'Then she falls. It’ll look like she’s clumsy. She’s an inspector, she’s used to tripping over dirt. Just keep the camera rolling. If we get the fall on stream, I can do a tearful update video the next morning about sisterhood. We’ll gain fifty thousand followers before the reception ends.'*
My hands, resting on the armrests of my wheelchair, clenched until the knuckles turned white. There was no misunderstanding. There was no split-second lapse of judgment. It was calculated content production. My spine, my career, my physical autonomy—all traded for metrics on a screen.
"This elevates the charge from reckless endangerment to aggravated assault with depraved indifference, resulting in catastrophic bodily injury," Marcus Chen said. "Because she knew of your pre-existing spinal condition—we have your text messages warning the family about your fragile vertebrae—this satisfies the standard for aggravated felony assault."
"What about the corporate card?" Vaughn asked.
"Grand larceny in the second degree," Chen replied. "Your corporate division provided the transaction logs. The IP address used to complete the online billing portal authorization matched Deline’s iPhone at 11:42 PM, using the hospital's public Wi-Fi network while she was waiting in the emergency lobby for ten minutes before leaving Sloan behind."
"She sat in the lobby of the ER," I whispered, the nausea rising in my throat, "and used my card while the doctors were cutting my clothes off?"
"Yes," Ree said gently. "And then she hailed an Uber back to the venue's luxury bridal suite."
The door opened again, and an officer poked his head in. "Mr. Chen, Arthur and Eleanor Ward are outside. They brought a defense attorney. They're demanding to see the victim to discuss an 'affidavit of non-prosecution.'"
Chen looked at me. "You don't have to see them, Sloan. In fact, I advise against it."
May you like
I took a deep, painful breath against the cast. "Let them in, Mr. Chen. But keep the recording running."
***
