Chapter 6 - The Paper Trail
The room seemed to spin around me. The air smelled of sharp ozone and panic.
"She... she tried to kill me?" My voice was barely a squeak.
"No," Caleb said, shaking his head grimly. "The police report from that night noted that the car was traveling at less than fifteen miles per hour. It clipped you just enough to knock you into the curb and shatter your joint. Lena didn't want you dead, Tessa. She wanted you broken. She wanted you dependent, weak, and out of the spotlight while she played the doting, supportive sister planning her fairytale wedding."
The sheer depravity of it was suffocating. All those hospital visits where Lena brought me lavender flowers and sugar-free smoothies. All those times she sighed and said, *“Oh Tessa, you’re so frail, thank God you have me to take care of you.”* It hadn't been sisterly love; it had been a predator returning to the site of the trap to admire her handiwork.
"We have to go to the police," I whispered, clutching the blanket with my left hand. "Caleb, we have to call the precinct right now."
"We will," Caleb agreed. "In fact, Detective Miller from the Hudson Valley precinct is on his way here right now. But before he arrives, there’s someone outside who wants to speak with you."
Caleb walked to the door, opened it, and motioned down the corridor.
A woman walked in, hesitating at the threshold. It was Chloe.
She looked completely different from the polished, haughty bridesmaid who had stood beside Lena twenty-four hours earlier. Her designer dress had been swapped for a plain oversized sweatshirt and jeans. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen from crying, and her hands shook violently around a manila envelope.
"Tessa," Chloe choked out, taking two tentative steps toward the bed. "I am... I am so sorry. God, I am so sorry."
"Chloe," I said, my tone ice-cold. "What are you doing here?"
"Lena threw me under the bus," Chloe sobbed, tears spilling down her pale cheeks. "Last night, when the stories started hitting the gossip blogs about the canceled wedding, Lena posted on her private story that *I* was the one who encouraged her to push you. She claimed *I* tripped her, which caused her to bump into you! She told everyone in our circle that I was trying to sabotage her marriage because I was secretly in love with Caleb!"
I looked at Caleb, who simply raised an eyebrow in disgust. Lena’s playbook was as predictable as the tide: when cornered, sacrifice the nearest pawn.
"She’s threatening to sue me for breach of contract on the bridesmaid agreement she made us all sign," Chloe continued, her voice trembling. "She wants me to pay for the empty reception hall! She said if I don't give her forty thousand dollars by Friday, she’s going to release private photos of me from college!"
"Chloe," Caleb said sharply, cutting through her hysteria. "The envelope."
Chloe swallowed hard and placed the thick envelope on my bedside tray table.
"It's everything," Chloe said, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. "The text messages from the week of your hit-and-run. Lena made me rent that car with my card because she said she wanted to play a 'prank' on you to scare you into quitting your job so you could move closer to home. I didn't know she was actually going to hit you! I swear to God, Tessa, I thought she was just going to splash you with puddle water or honk the horn! When she came back with a dent in the bumper, she threatened to tell the police that I was driving if I ever said a word."
I stared at the envelope. Inside lay the physical proof that would dismantle Lena’s life piece by piece.
"And what about yesterday?" I asked. "At the pool?"
"She had it planned all week," Chloe admitted, looking down in shame. "She told me that your sling was getting too much attention from the family. She said, *'Watch how fast she forgets about her little boo-hoo shoulder when she's soaking wet in front of Caleb's high-society friends.'* She knew it would re-injure you. She wanted you in pain so you wouldn't be able to dance at the reception."
The curtain parted again, and a tall, broad-shouldered man in a charcoal suit and trench coat stepped into the room. He flashed a gold shield pinned to a leather wallet.
"I’m Detective Miller," the man said, his eyes scanning the room before resting on Chloe. "Are you Chloe Simmons?"
Chloe flinched, but then took a deep, steadying breath. "Yes. And I’m ready to give a full statement."
Detective Miller looked over at Caleb, then at me. "Miss Vance, your sister Lena has just filed a formal civil complaint against your fiancé for breach of marriage contract and emotional distress, and she’s currently giving an exclusive live interview to a local entertainment blog outside her parents' brownstone."
A dark, cold smile touched Caleb’s lips. "Is that so?"
"Yes," the detective said. "She’s claiming she was the victim of a coordinated assault and defamation campaign orchestrated by the two of you."
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"Well, Detective," Caleb said, picking up the envelope and handing it to the officer, "I think it’s time we give the press—and the District Attorney—something real to talk about."
***
