Chapter 5 - The Paper Trail Unravels
By noon the following day, the story had broken across the internet, but not in the way Fallon had scripted.
Instead of a viral TikTok clip showing an uptight older sister making a fool of herself, the morning news cycle was dominated by local New York headlines:
**"INFLUENCER WEDDING TURNS CRIMINAL: BRIDE INVESTIGATED FOR CHEMICAL ATTACK ON SISTER."**
Photographs of police cruisers surrounding the lavish glass conservatory had been captured by local drone hobbyists and wedding guests who ignored the officers' orders not to post. The contrast was horrifying: the opulent floral arrangements, the fairy lights, and four crime scene technicians in white Tyvek suits dusting the head table for chemical residue.
In my private hospital room, the door flew open without warning.
Sybil marched in. She looked disheveled—her designer blow-dry was flat, her makeup creased, and her expensive linen coat was slung haphazardly over one arm.
"Sloan," she demanded, striding straight toward my bed. "Tell them it was an accident."
Greer stood up instantly from the armchair, placing herself squarely between Sybil and my bed. "Get out of here, Sybil. Now."
"Move aside, Greer. This is a family matter," Sybil snapped, her voice trembling with hysteria. "Do you have any idea what is happening out there? Evan was taken down to the station in handcuffs! Fallon is barricaded in her penthouse with reporters camping on the sidewalk! The brands—three luxury sponsors have already pulled their contracts!"
I looked at my mother through my one unbandaged eye. The skin on my left cheek burned under the thick ointment, every throb a reminder of the night before.
"Are you going to ask how I am, Mom?" I asked quietly.
Sybil blinked, taken aback for a fraction of a second, before her expression hardened into pure frustration. "Of course you're hurt, Sloan! Nobody wanted you to get hurt! Fallon made a mistake. She didn't realize the solution was that strong! She thought it was just a strong facial peel!"
"She threw acid in my face," I said, my voice steady despite the trembling in my hands. "On camera. For money."
"She was under immense pressure!" Sybil raised her voice, stepping closer, her eyes flashing with desperation. "You don't understand the media world, Sloan. You sit in your little actuarial office with your spreadsheets. Fallon has a brand to maintain! She made an error in judgment, yes, but if you press charges, she will go to prison! Do you want your own sister in prison?"
"Yes," I said.
Sybil froze. Her mouth opened, then closed.
"What did you say?"
"I said yes," I repeated, looking directly into her eyes. "She premeditated this. She ordered the chemical. She had you tell me to wear the cream silk dress so the stain would show up clearly on 4K cameras. Did you know about that, Mom? Or were you just an accomplice who didn't bother to ask questions?"
Sybil’s face turned an ugly, mottled shade of crimson. "How dare you speak to me like that! After everything I sacrificed for you—"
"You sacrificed me for *her*," I cut her off, the clarity of thirty-four years finally sharpening into absolute focus. "Every holiday, every family dinner, every single time Fallon demanded the center of the room. You told me to be quiet so she could shine. You told me to pay off her credit cards so she wouldn't be embarrassed. You told me to wear the cream dress."
The door opened again. Detective Miller stepped inside, followed by two uniformed hospital security guards.
"Mrs. Ward," Miller said, his tone razor-sharp. "You were told explicitly by the district attorney’s office that you are not permitted contact with the victim."
Sybil spun around. "I am her mother!"
"And you are trespassing in a restricted medical unit," Miller replied. "Escort her out, gentlemen. If she returns, book her for witness tampering."
As the security guards took Sybil by the elbows and dragged her backward out the door, she screamed down the corridor, her voice echoing off the tile: "You're destroying this family, Sloan! You're destroying everything we built!"
The heavy door clicked shut.
I took a deep, ragged breath. Greer came over, sitting on the edge of the bed, and gently wrapped her arm around my uninjured shoulder.
"She's right about one thing," Greer whispered gently.
"What?"
May you like
"The family is destroyed," Greer said. "And good riddance."
***
