Chapter 7 - The Story She Sold

By evening, the video from the ballroom was everywhere.
Not mine.
A guest had filmed Maria screaming and Celeste crying.
The clip ended before I showed my phone.
The caption called me a jealous heiress who had ruined her father’s engagement celebration.
Celeste’s lawyer issued a statement.
My client is cooperating fully with authorities regarding an unfortunate medical incident.
An hour later, a gossip account posted claims that I had been removed from the foundation for “erratic conduct.”
The fake emails had found their audience.
My phone filled with messages from people who had never once asked how I was.
Are you okay?
Did you really do that?
Your father deserves happiness.
I turned it facedown.
Richard wanted a short statement confirming that evidence had been provided to police.
I agreed.
No speeches.
No threats.
No trial conducted in a comment section.
Maria came to the hospital with a paper bag of clean clothes for me.
I hadn’t realized I was still wearing the same dress.
She set the bag down.
“My daughter wants me to go home with her.”
“Good.”
“She thinks I should leave my job.”
I looked at her.
Maria had worked for our family since I was fourteen.
She had stayed through my mother’s illness, the funeral, and the years afterward when my father filled silence with work.
“This isn’t a debt,” I told her. “You don’t have to stay because you love us.”
Her eyes filled.
“I know.”
But I wasn’t sure she had known until I said it.
We were walking toward the elevators when she stopped.
A man in a baseball cap stood beside the vending machines.
He looked at Maria.
Then at me.
Then he walked away.
“You know him?” I asked.
“He delivered flowers to the house last week.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded.
He pushed through the stairwell door.
I alerted hospital security and called Bennett.
Ten minutes later, Maria’s daughter called.
Someone had left an envelope under her apartment door.
Inside was a photograph of Maria entering the hospital.
May you like
On the back were six words.
You saw a supplement. Remember that.