Chapter 97
Elara
Her hands started shaking. "What about it?"
"When did your mother die?"
"Five years ago."
"And when did you bury her?"
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Six weeks ago."
"Why the delay?"
Tears started forming. "I couldn't afford it. The funeral home—they were charging me storage fees. Eight thousand dollars. Plus the burial plot. I didn't have that kind of money."
"So what happened to her body?"
"It was—it was in their cold storage. For almost five years." Her voice broke. "They kept threatening to send her to Potter's Field. To the mass grave. I kept begging them for more time. But then they gave me a final notice. Said if I didn't pay by September twentieth, they'd transfer her."
"And then?"
"And then someone helped me." She was crying now. "He said he'd heard about my situation. That he wanted to help."
"Who?"
"Damien Kennedy."
Harris leaned forward. "When did he approach you?"
"I can’t remember very clearly. It should be something that happened recently." She wiped her eyes. "He just showed up at my apartment. Said he knew about my mother. About the debt. He offered to pay for everything."
"In exchange for what?"
Her face crumpled. "I had to sign a statement. Saying I must tell him what happened at Blackwood Manor and listen to his arrangements if necessary."
"Then he sent you a message on the day of the birthday banquet and asked you to poison Sloane?"
She shook her head violently. "No. I never saw any bottle. I don't know what was in Sloane's tea. I just—I just needed to bury my mother. She'd been in that freezer for five years. Five years." She looked at me, desperate. "Do you know what that's like? Knowing your mother's body is just sitting there? In a drawer? Like she's nothing?"
My throat was tight. "No. I don't."
"I visit her grave every week now," Anna whispered. "I bring her daisies. I talk to her. I tell her I'm sorry it took so long. That I finally gave her a proper resting place."
"By lying about me."
"Yes." Fresh tears. "By lying about you. I'm so sorry. I thought—he said that nothing would really happen to you."
Harris closed his notepad. "Miss Petrova, you understand you've committed perjury?"
"I know." She looked at me. "I know what I did. And I know I have to face the consequences."
"How long?" I asked quietly.
"What?"
"How long is the sentence for perjury?"
Harris answered. "In a case like this? Probably four to six months. Maybe less with a plea deal."
Anna went white. "I have a grandmother in the Bronx. She needs me—"
"You should have thought about that before you lied under oath."
"I know. I know." She was crying again. "But if I didn't do it—they were going to throw her away. Like she was garbage. Like she never mattered."
Something twisted in my chest. Anger. Pity. Understanding.
"The system failed you, Anna," I said quietly. "They let your mother die because she couldn't pay. They kept her body hostage for five years because you couldn't pay. Damien Kennedy exploited that. He used your grief. Your desperation. Your love for your mother. That's not your fault."
"But I still lied."
"Yes. You did." I stood. "And you'll pay for that. But I want you to know—I don't hate you. I hate them. The people who put you in that position. The people who made you choose between your morality and your mother's dignity."
She stared at me. "Why are you being nice to me?"
"Because I understand what it's like to be powerless. To be used by people who have more money and connections than you'll ever have." I turned to Harris. "What happens now?"
"I'll contact the DA. Recommend charges against Damien Kennedy for tampering with a witness. Anna will likely face perjury charges."
"And if she cooperates? If she testifies about everything Damien did?"
"It might reduce her sentence."
I looked at Anna. "Will you do that? Will you tell them everything?"
She nodded slowly. "Yes. Yes, I'll tell them everything."
When we walked out of the precinct, Raven squeezed my arm tight.
"Harris is right. Anna will flip," she said, a fierce satisfaction in her voice. "She's not a bad person. Just cornered. But now she knows—telling the truth is the only way out."
"Only if the DA actually prosecutes Damien," I said. "Instead of accepting whatever 'settlement' the Kennedy family lawyers offer."
"They won't dare drop it. The case is too public now. Media's watching." She stopped, turned to face me. "Elara, you won. Once Anna recants, the whole case collapses."
I wanted to believe her. But past-life memories whispered that powerful families had a thousand ways to make "justice" serve them.
"Maybe," I said quietly. "We'll see."
Then I saw the Maybach parked at the curb.
Of course. Of course he'd be here.
Julian leaned against it, arms crossed. Beside him stood Sloane and Damien. Damien's head was bandaged. His lawyer—some slick-looking man in a Brioni suit—stood next to them.
Sloane saw me first. Her hand went to her stomach. Protective. Performative.
"Elara." Julian's voice was flat. "We need to talk."
"No, we don't."
Damien stepped forward. His lawyer touched his arm, but he shook him off.
"You really think this is over?" He smiled. Cold. Cruel. "My lawyer says there's insufficient evidence. I'll be out by tomorrow."
"Then I guess the system works for you," I said. "Must be nice."
"It is." He looked me up and down. "You, on the other hand... Making accusations you can't prove? That's dangerous."
Raven stepped between us. "Back off."
His expression darkened. "Careful, little girl. You don't want to make an enemy of me."
"Too late." She smiled. "Already done."
Sloane's voice cut through the tension. "Damien. Please. This isn't helping."
She looked at me. Eyes wide. Innocent. That same fucking wounded doe expression.
"Elara, I'm... I'm sorry this got so out of hand. Damien was just trying to protect me. After what happened at the gala—with the painting, and the tea—he thought..." She trailed off delicately. "He thought you were targeting me. He was trying to help. His methods were... aggressive. But his intentions were good."
I stared at her. "You're defending him."
"I'm explaining him." She touched Damien's arm. A gentle, forgiving touch. "He loves me. He was trying to keep me and the baby safe. I can't fault him for that."
"He paid Anna to lie. He found a grieving woman who'd kept her mother's body in storage for five years and offered her a deal she couldn't refuse. He exploited her desperation to frame me for attempted murder."
"That's not—" Sloane's voice broke. "If that's true, I didn't know. I would never condone—"
"You knew." The words came out quiet. Certain. "You've always known. Every move he makes, you're aware of it."
Her face hardened for just a second. Then the mask slid back into place. "I think you're upset. Understandably. This has been very traumatic for all of us. If Damien crossed lines, I apologize on his behalf."
"If." Raven laughed. "If he crossed lines. Are you fucking kidding me?"
Julian finally spoke. "That's enough."
He wasn't looking at Raven. He was looking at me.
"Elara. Get in the car."
"No."
His jaw tightened. "I'm not asking."
"And I'm not going."
Sloane made a soft sound. Distressed. Julian's attention immediately shifted to her.
"Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?"
"I'm fine. Just... can we go home? Please?" She leaned into him. "This is too much stress. The doctor said—"
"I know. Come on." He guided her toward the car.
Before he opened the door, he looked back at me. Our eyes met.
"I'm sorry," he said.
Two words. Quiet. Almost lost in the street noise.