Chapter 10 - The Mercer Fallout
The texts revealed a horror far deeper than a sudden impulse of wedding-day jealousy.
Detective Martinez visited my hospital room later that afternoon, holding a printed transcript of the digital extraction from Paige’s iPhone.
"Miss Cole," Martinez said, taking a seat across from me while Ryan stood by the window, his arms folded across his chest. "We are upgrading the charges against your sister to include conspiracy to commit aggravated assault."
"Conspiracy?" I asked, confused. "To who? Brooke?"
"Brooke Ellison has accepted a cooperation agreement with the District Attorney," Detective Martinez explained, flipping through the pages. "In exchange for immunity, she handed over her full digital correspondence with Paige dating back to last November."
He cleared his throat and read aloud from the transcript:
*Paige [Nov 14, 2:14 PM]: If Marissa gets that Seattle job, Dad is going to give her the lake house in Chelan for her 35th birthday. He told Mom last night. We have to make sure she stays here.*
*Brooke [Nov 14, 2:18 PM]: What are you gonna do? She works constantly.*
*Paige [Nov 14, 2:22 PM]: I’ll figure it out. If she’s dealing with personal problems, she won't have time to interview. I just need to knock her off her high horse.*
My stomach twisted into a sickening knot. "The lake house? Dad promised that house to me when my grandmother died. It was Grandma’s favorite place."
"It gets worse," Martinez said, his expression grim. "Three days before your bicycle accident in July, Paige texted Brooke again."
He pointed to a highlighted section on page twelve:
*Paige [July 9, 8:45 AM]: Marissa rides her road bike down Elm Street every Tuesday at 6:30 PM. The bike lane near the bakery has blind spots when the delivery vans park.*
*Brooke [July 9, 8:47 AM]: Paige, that’s crazy. Don't do anything stupid.*
*Paige [July 9, 8:50 AM]: I’m just going to open my car door while I’m picking up my dry cleaning. An accident happens to cyclists all the time. She’ll break an ankle or sprain a wrist, and she won't be able to travel for that interview.*
The air completely vanished from my lungs.
My vision tunneled.
The memory of the accident flashed behind my eyes with violent clarity: the sudden, silver flash of a Mercedes driver’s side door swinging open into the bike lane. The sound of metal crunching. My body sailing over the handlebars, hitting the asphalt shoulder-first.
The silver Mercedes had sped off before I could read the license plate.
Paige drove a silver Mercedes C-Class.
"She... she doored me?" I whispered, my voice barely audible above the hum of the IV pump. "My own sister hit me with her car?"
"The traffic cameras on Elm Street were overwritten after thirty days," Detective Martinez said. "So we couldn't pull the footage from July. But Brooke has provided sworn testimony that Paige admitted to opening the door on purpose to cause the crash. Paige bragged about it over margaritas two days later."
A cold, terrifying chill washed over my skin.
The pool shove hadn't been a moment of pre-wedding madness. It hadn't been a childish prank that went wrong.
It was the second time she had tried to physically break me.
Ryan stepped over to the bed, resting his large hand gently against my left shoulder. I could feel the trembling tension in his frame, a controlled rage that radiated from him like heat from a furnace.
May you like
"She’s going to state prison, Marissa," Ryan whispered. "I will personally hire the best prosecutors in Washington State to make sure she serves every single month of her sentence."
***
