Chapter 96
Elara
The sheets were cold.
That was the first thing I noticed when I woke up. Not cool—cold. The kind of cold that told me he'd been gone for hours.
I stared at the empty pillow beside me. No dent. No warmth. Just crisp white cotton that looked like it had never been touched.
My hand reached out anyway. Stupid. Pathetic.
The bedside table held a single note. Plain cardstock. His handwriting—sharp, efficient strokes that somehow looked expensive.
"I'll send you the information."
That was it. No signature. No explanation for why he'd left before dawn. No acknowledgment of what we'd done.
I should have been relieved. Instead, I felt the laugh building in my chest. It came out broken. Wet.
Tears followed. I wiped them away angrily.
"What did you expect?" I whispered to the empty room. "A love letter?"
The bathroom mirror was unforgiving. Bruises on my neck. Red marks on my hips. Evidence everywhere.
I turned on the shower. Made it as hot as I could stand. Scrubbed until my skin turned pink.
It didn't help. I could still feel his hands. Still hear his voice saying "you're mine."
"I'm not," I told my reflection. "I'm not his. I'm not anyone's."
The words felt hollow.
---
School was a blur. Emily tried to make eye contact in the hallway. I looked away.
Raven texted during lunch: "You good?"
"Fine," I lied.
The email came at noon. Sender: Atlas Cooper. Subject: Per Mr. Vane's request.
I opened it in the library bathroom, hands shaking.
"CONFIDENTIAL INVESTIGATION: Anna Petrova"
The file was thorough. Disturbingly thorough.
Father: Carlos Petrova. Divorced when Anna was ten. Construction worker in Newark. Current address included.
Mother: Elena Petrova. Worked as a cleaner at Blackwood Estate for fifteen years. Died of stage-four breast cancer five years ago at Queens General Hospital.
My throat tightened. I kept reading.
Medical Records: Elena Petrova was diagnosed with advanced breast cancer. No insurance. Treatment delayed due to inability to pay. Died six months after diagnosis.
Financial Records: At time of death, Anna owed $8,000 to Morrison Funeral Home. Hospital bills exceeded $45,000.
Burial Information: Elena Petrova, buried at Elmwood Gardens Cemetery, Queens. Plot 4B, Section C.
I stopped. Read that line again.
Elmwood Gardens was expensive. I'd researched cemeteries when—
I pushed that thought away.
The cheapest plots there started at $25,000. For Section C, probably closer to $30,000.
Anna was nineteen when her mother died. Working minimum wage at Blackwood. Drowning in debt.
How the hell did she afford that?
I pulled up the funeral home records Atlas had attached. Invoice paid in full. $8,000 for basic services. $28,000 for the cemetery plot.
Payment method: Wire transfer from KP Holdings LLC.
My stomach dropped.
I knew that name. Kennedy Properties. Damien Kennedy's real estate company.
"Oh, Anna," I whispered. "What did you do?"
---
I found Raven on the art building roof.
"Got a lead," I said without preamble. "Anna's mother's burial. Something's off. Can you skip last period?"
She closed her sketchbook, eyes brightening. "Found the breakthrough?"
"Maybe. Need to confirm on-site."
"Where?"
"Queens. A cemetery."
She stood, shoving her art supplies into her backpack. "Should've thought to follow the money earlier. Let's go."
Queens on a Tuesday afternoon was gray and sad. The kind of day that made everything look washed out.
Elmwood Gardens Cemetery sat behind a wrought-iron fence. Nice enough. Not lavish. The kind of place working people saved for years to afford.
We found Elena's grave in Section C. Simple headstone. Her photo—Anna's eyes, Anna's sharp cheekbones. The inscription read: Beloved Mother, Rest in Peace.
Fresh flowers sat at the base. Daisies.
"At the station, Anna said her mom owed the funeral home eight thousand dollars," Raven crouched down, checking the dates on the headstone. "Died five years ago. She was nineteen, minimum wage. How could she possibly afford this?"
"She couldn't," I said, touching the cold marble. "So someone else paid for it."
Raven pulled out her phone. "You said the plot cost twenty-eight grand?"
"According to the records."
"Plus eight thousand for the funeral home. Thirty-six total." Her jaw tightened. "Someone showed up when she was desperate. Helped bury her mother. Then demanded payback."
"Not just someone." I stood. "Damien Kennedy."
"Sloane's cousin?" Her voice shot up. "The one from FLUX—"
"Yes. Him."
She looked at the grave, then back at me. "So this is the evidence. He used Anna's love for her mother to force her to lie and frame you."
"I need to confirm the payment records."
We walked to the cemetery office.
A tired-looking woman sat behind plexiglass.
"Help you?"
"I'm looking for payment records," I said. "For Elena Petrova. Plot 4B, Section C."
She typed slowly. "That information is confidential."
I pulled out my phone. Showed her the email from Atlas. "I'm working with the police on an investigation. This is relevant."
Not entirely true. But close enough.
She squinted at the screen. Sighed. "One second."
When she returned, she had a printout. "Plot purchased three years ago. Payment in full via wire transfer. Company name..." She adjusted her glasses. "KP Holdings LLC."
"Do you have a contact name?"
"Just says 'on behalf of Miss Anna Petrova.'" She looked up. "Is there a problem?"
"No," I lied. "Thank you."
Outside, Raven grabbed my arm. "That's it. That's proof."
"It's proof someone paid. Not proof of why."
"Elara." Her grip tightened. "A grieving teenager gets offered money to bury her mom. In exchange, she lies about you. That's not a coincidence."
I knew she was right. But I needed more.
"We need to talk to Detective Harris."
---
The precinct smelled like burnt coffee and old sweat.
Harris looked up when I walked in. "Miss Vance. Didn't expect to see you again so soon."
"I have new information." I slid the cemetery records across his desk. "About Anna Petrova."
He read slowly. His expression didn't change.
"You think someone bribed her to frame you."
"I know they did. Check the company. KP Holdings. It's linked to Kennedy Properties. Damien Kennedy's company. He paid for her mother's burial six weeks ago."
Harris looked up sharply. "Burial?"
"Anna's mother died five years ago. The body was in funeral home storage. They were going to transfer it to Potter's Field. Damien paid everything right before that happened."
"In exchange for her testimony."
"Yes."
He leaned back in his chair. "That's... that's a good timeline. Motive and opportunity."
"So talk to her. Ask her about the money. Put pressure on her."
He studied me for a long moment. "You really think she'll crack?"
"I think she's been carrying this guilt for five years. And now for six weeks more. I think she's ready to break."
Harris picked up his phone. "Let's find out."
They brought Anna in twenty minutes later.
She looked thinner. Dark circles under her eyes.
When she saw me, she flinched.
"Miss Petrova," Harris began. "We have some questions about your mother's burial."