Chapter 8: The Complaint Filed Before the Crime
The officer’s words sliced through the applause before it could become victory.
Regina had filed a theft complaint before the gala began.
Before Celeste fell. Before the sketchbook was ripped. Before I touched the gown.
Of course she had.
People like Regina scheduled cruelty.
The officer looked uncomfortable. “The complaint alleges Maya Reed stole Vale House design materials and entered the event to disrupt.”
Regina lifted her chin. Even with security beside her, she found a way to look wronged.
“I was protecting my company,” she said.
“Your company?” Augustus asked.
“Yes. My intellectual property.”
I almost laughed. “You stole from a dead woman, then accused her daughter of theft.”
Regina’s eyes flashed. “Your mother signed away her archive.”
“No, she didn’t.”
“Do you have the contract?”
The question landed too cleanly.
I went cold.
I had copies of filings, sketches, letters, and testimony. But the original archive contract had vanished years ago. My mother said it was forged. Without it, Regina could drag everything into years of litigation. She could lose tonight and bury me in paper tomorrow.
Regina knew it.
Augustus turned to his lawyer. “Can this complaint stand?”
The lawyer spoke carefully. “It can delay matters.”
Delay. Another rich word for suffocation.
Lucas was being escorted away now, shouting that everyone had agreed. Regina barely looked at him. Men like Lucas were useful only until they became evidence.
The officer approached me. “Miss Reed, I need you to come with us and answer questions.”
Celeste stepped in front of me. “She saved me.”
“I understand, Miss Alden, but—”
“No,” Augustus said.
The word stopped everyone.
He did not raise his voice.
“My counsel will accompany Miss Reed. She will answer here, on record, with every camera still running.”
Regina’s mouth tightened.
Then Marco stepped forward again.
“There may be a contract.”
Regina turned. “Don’t.”
His eyes stayed on me. “Eleanor gave me a metal case the week before the lawsuit. She said if anything happened, I should give it to the one person who treated her like an artist and not a servant.”
Augustus inhaled.
“Where is it?” I asked.
Marco looked toward the mansion. “Old service archive. Beneath the west pantry. I hid it here because Hartwell Mansion used to host Alden events. I thought Mr. Alden might return someday.”
Regina laughed, but it sounded panicked. “This is absurd.”
Augustus lifted his cane. “Then you won’t mind us looking.”
We moved through the mansion in a strange procession: Augustus, Celeste in his jacket, me with my ruined sketchbook, Marco, Priya, officers, lawyers, and Regina following because she could not bear being absent from her own collapse.
The west pantry smelled of lemon polish. Marco knelt near a lower cabinet, pressed a loose tile, and pulled out a flat metal case sealed with black tape.
My mother’s handwriting covered the front.
FOR AUGUSTUS ALDEN, IF HE STILL REMEMBERS THE TRUTH.
Augustus touched the letters with shaking fingers.
Regina whispered, “It’s fake.”
No one answered her.
The case opened softly.
Inside were photographs, sketches, notarized dates, and a cassette recorder wrapped in silk.
At the bottom lay a contract.
Not signed by Eleanor Reed.
Signed by Regina Vale.
Acknowledgment of temporary design custody. No transfer of ownership.
My eyes blurred.
Regina had not bought my mother’s archive.
She had borrowed it, stolen it, and built an empire on the hope that a poor woman would die too quietly.
Augustus looked at Regina.
“You knew.”
Regina’s face had no blood left in it.
The cassette clicked under Marco’s hand.
My mother’s voice filled the pantry, thin but clear.
“If Regina destroys me, tell Maya I was not ashamed of my work.”
I covered my mouth.
Then my mother said one final sentence.
“And tell Augustus the girl with my eyes was his mistake too.”
The pantry went silent.
May you like
Augustus turned slowly toward me.
Regina smiled through her ruin, because even now, she had found another wound to open.
