Chapter 2
The next afternoon, James came. Not to see me. Charles had summoned him. When the interrogation room door opened, James walked in first, with Charles two steps behind him.
There was a little distance between them, but James' back was bent so low his waist was nearly at a right angle. Like a dog on a leash.
"Mr. Ford asked you to talk to your sister," one of the lawyers said coldly.
The police were asked to leave. The instant the door closed, I saw the shift supervisor slipping a card into an envelope. Charles leaned against the wall with both hands in his pockets, watching us.
James walked over and crouched in front of me. I thought he'd hesitate at least a little. He didn't.
He grabbed my hair and slammed my head down. My forehead hit the concrete so hard that on the first hit, I heard my cheekbone crack. "Kowtow," he said.
The second hit was even harder. Blood streamed from my hairline, down over the tip of my nose, and dripped onto the floor. "Kowtow to Mr. Ford and admit what you did."
I braced a hand against the floor and tried to push myself up, but he kicked it away. "You fucking deserve this. Mom and Dad raised you all these years. If you won't take the blame for Emily, what more do you want?"
On the third hit, the skin on my forehead split open. He was really trying to kill me.
"Enough." Charles's voice came from above me. James let go at once.
I lay sprawled on the floor, blood and dust smeared across my face. When I looked up, I saw Charles looking down at me and taking pictures with his phone.
"Send this one to the media. Use the headline: 'Killer's Family Begs Forgiveness.'" "Yes, sir." James wiped my blood off his hands and eagerly stepped aside.
After Charles put his phone away, he said something to the lawyer. The lawyer opened the file bag and held a stack of papers in front of me.
I was still on the floor, blood running into my eyes, so I couldn't see clearly. But I recognized the heading on the top page at once: Petition for Psychiatric Evaluation.
There was also a stamped medical record attached. Diagnosis: severe antisocial personality disorder. Duration of illness: twelve years. The hospital seal belonged to the biggest top-tier psychiatric hospital in the city.
My fingernails scraped bloody marks into the floor. Charles hadn't arranged this.
The emergency contact listed on the medical file was Susan's name, and the signature was hers too. Susan had taken my ID information and used it to open a fake medical record in my name.
"Your parents have been very cooperative." Charles crouched down and patted my face with the stack of papers. "Antisocial personality disorder, plus premeditated murder. At minimum, you're looking at life."
He stood up, stepped on the medical file with his dress shoe, and walked to the door before pausing. "Your brother also says you've liked tormenting cats and dogs since you were little.
"I've already had people talk to the neighbors from your old neighborhood. They're all more than willing to testify."
Behind him, James nodded over and over. "Right, right, right. She even hurt a neighbor's kid when she was young. We all remember it."
The door closed behind them.
I was left alone on the cold concrete floor of the interrogation room. The blood on my forehead had already started to clot, sticking to the loose strands of hair. At seven that evening, I was officially transferred to the detention center.
On the way out, I passed the TV in the lobby. The news was playing: "Lane Enterprises has issued a statement formally severing all ties with criminal suspect Olivia Lane.
"Mr. and Mrs. Lane say they are deeply pained by their daughter's actions and will fully cooperate with the authorities."
On-screen, Susan cried so hard she could barely speak, while Mark held her and spoke in a grave, heartbroken tone.
Emily stood at the very back, holding a bouquet of white Lily She looked into the camera and said, "I love my Olivia very much, but the law comes before family."
White Lily: flowers for the dead. She was already mourning me like I'd died.