Chapter 2 - THE MIDNIGHT CONFESSION IN WARD 4B
The chaos that erupted inside St. Jude’s Parish after the revelation of the empty coffin was nothing short of apocalyptic. Flashbulbs from reporters who had somehow been tipped off flashed through the stained-glass windows. Sirens wailed in the distance as local police—summoned by Daniel Price before we even stepped foot in the church—arrived to secure the premises. Veronica didn't get to weep or play the grieving mother; she was immediately detained for questioning regarding a fraudulent burial permit and obstruction of justice.
Yet, despite the seismic shift in public perception, I was still a convicted felon.
The judge ordered Veronica held for forty-eight hours, but the state department of corrections promptly shipped me back to Blackwell Maximum Security. My orange jumpsuit felt heavier this time. The inmates who had previously spat on my food now watched me with wary, calculating eyes. Word traveled fast: the girl whose supposed victim's coffin turned out to be hollow had just cracked the foundation of the Vance empire.
That night, at precisely 2:14 AM, my cell door buzzed.
It wasn't the standard guard for the morning roll call. It was Warden Thomas Vance—no relation to my family, despite the shared surname, but a man known throughout the penal system as someone whose loyalty could be bought for the right price.
"Up, Vance," the warden grunted, banging a heavy baton against my steel bars. "You've got a visitor in the confidential consultation booth. Special legal privilege. Move."
I was led down the subterranean labyrinth of Blackwell’s security wing, past humming generator rooms and flickering fluorescent lights, until I reached Ward 4B—the high-security medical and legal annex. Sitting inside the small glass-walled room wasn't Daniel Price.
It was Marcus Thorne.
Marcus was our late father’s longtime personal physician and chief financial executor, a man who had vanished off the face of the earth two weeks before my murder trial began. He looked haggard, his gray hair uncombed, wearing a cheap nylon jacket that looked entirely out of place on a man who used to wear bespoke Italian suits.
I sat down on the bolted metal chair on the opposite side of the scratched Plexiglas divider and picked up the heavy black telephone receiver. Marcus picked up his end with trembling hands.
"You're a fool for coming here, Marcus," I said without preamble, my voice echoing through the static-filled speaker. "Or are you here to finish whatever Veronica started?"
Marcus swallowed hard, his eyes darting frantically toward the hallway door where the guard stood watch. "Listen to me, Elena, and listen closely. You only have a few hours before Veronica’s high-priced defense lawyers secure an emergency writ of habeas corpus to get her out of holding. She has judges in her pocket from here to the state capital."
"Then tell me where Lily is," I demanded, slamming my palm against the glass partition. "The coffin was empty, Marcus! You helped manage my father's estate. You knew everything. Did Veronica kill her?"
"No," Marcus whispered, pressing his forehead against the glass. "Veronica didn't kill Lily. At least... not in the way everyone thinks."
My breath caught in my throat. The room seemed to tilt sideways. "What are you talking about? If Lily isn't dead, why was there blood in my car? Why was her necklace in my apartment?"
"Framing, Elena! It was all an elaborate, multi-million-dollar insurance and inheritance trap designed by Veronica and her secret lover—none other than District Attorney Arthur Pendelton."
The pieces of the puzzle began to violently snap together in my mind. Arthur Pendelton—the ambitious, iron-fisted prosecutor who had aggressively pushed for my maximum sentence without ever allowing a shred of reasonable doubt.
"Why?" I choked out, tears of fury finally blurring my vision. "Why frame me and fake Lily's death? What could they possibly gain?"
"Your father’s final will contained a secret survivorship clause," Marcus explained, his voice dropping to a panicked whisper. "The bulk of the Vance industrial holdings—over eighty million dollars in real estate, shipping fleets, and offshore accounts—were placed in an irrevocable trust split equally between you and Lily. But there was a catch: if one sister died under suspicious circumstances or was convicted of a felony against the family before turning twenty-five, her share automatically defaulted to the surviving legal guardian—Veronica."
"And if both of us disappeared or were legally incapacitated?" I asked, a cold shiver running down my spine.
"Then Veronica and Pendelton would petition the probate court to liquidate the entire trust under the 'Declared Deceased' statute, splitting the liquidation payout cleanly between them in a foreign tax haven," Marcus said, his eyes wide with terror. "Lily isn't dead, Elena. At least, she wasn't as of three weeks ago. Veronica kept her heavily sedated and locked away in the family’s old hunting lodge up in the Blackwood Mountains, waiting for the final probate decree to clear so they could permanently silence her."
Before I could ask where in the Blackwood Mountains the lodge was located, the door to the consultation room flew open. Warden Vance and two armed guards rushed in, grabbing Marcus by the collar and yanking him backward.
May you like
"Visits over!" the warden roared.
"Elena, find the ledger in your father's old study!" Marcus screamed as they dragged him out into the corridor. "It has the cipher! Save your sister before Veronica finishes what she started!"
