Chapter 8 - The Sirens at the Gates

Before anyone could process the digital tsunami crashing over Hawthorne Manor, a new sound cut through the crisp Christmas morning air.
Wail. Wail. Wail.
The distinctive, piercing shriek of multiple police sirens echoed up the private drive, getting louder by the second until the heavy thrum of cruiser engines vibrated through the library’s stained-glass windows. Blue and red emergency lights flashed wildly against the white winter snow outside, casting long, frantic streaks of color across the antique bookshelves.
Grandma Eleanor looked calmly toward the chapel entrance, as if she had ordered room service and expected it to arrive precisely on time.
Then, she finished the sentence the wedding planner had started outside.
"The police are outside," Grandma said smoothly. "And I imagine they have several very specific questions about arson, assault, and attempted bodily harm."
Richard jumped to his feet, his face turning an alarming shade of purple. "Arson?! Are you out of your mind, Eleanor? It was a family dispute! A prank gone wrong! You can't call the police on a Hawthorne!"
"Watch me," Grandma replied, her voice dropping an octave into a tone of absolute, chilling authority. "Victoria committed a felony in a public place, captured on high-definition video, witnessed by two hundred people, and broadcast to millions. The Commonwealth of Massachusetts takes a dim view of people who set fire to brides, Richard. Not even your grandfather’s portrait in the town hall is going to save her this time."
The library doors pushed open again. This time, it wasn't the wedding planner. Two uniformed Boston police officers, accompanied by a senior detective with a grim expression and a notepad, stepped into the room.
The detective's eyes swept over the high-society gathering—the wilted flowers, the terrified parents, the disgraced groom, and finally, me, standing radiant and untouched in five hundred and twenty diamonds.
"Good morning," the detective said, his voice flat and professional. "We received multiple emergency calls regarding an assault and an incendiary incident at this location. I'm Detective Miller. Which one of you is Emily Laurent-Vance?"
I stepped forward, the platinum thread of my gown catching the blue and red flashing lights from the window, turning every diamond into a star of absolute, unyielding justice.
May you like
"I am," I said clearly.
Detective Miller nodded, clicking his pen. "I’m going to need you to come with us to give a formal statement, ma'am. We have units currently detaining Miss Victoria Ashford by the south gate."