Chapter 4

When Emily arrived, she was wearing a couture dress. Black, fitted at the waist, with a row of tiny pearls set along the zipper down the back. She'd come to watch me rot in jail, dressed like she was walking a red carpet.

In the visitation room, it was only the two of us. Before coming in, she spoke to the guard outside. He nodded and turned the security camera in the corner away.

It must Charles had made arrangements again.

"Olivia." She sat down across from me, set her purse on the table, and pulled out a little compact mirror to touch up her lipstick. I said nothing.

She put the mirror away, tilted her head, and looked at me. "What happened to your hand? Let me see."

She reached across the table and grabbed my right hand. Then she pinched my broken index finger.

I sucked in a sharp breath and threw myself backward, but her other hand pinned my wrist down. "Does it hurt?" She laughed. "It should. A broken bone hurts." Then she let go.

When I yanked my hand back, it banged against the tabletop, and fresh blood seeped out around the broken finger.

"Olivia, want to guess how Charles's aunt died?"

I clenched my molars and stayed silent.

She continued, "I pushed it."

She folded her hands on the table and rested her chin on the backs of them, as if we were chatting. "That cement bucket was heavy as hell. It took me more than ten minutes to drag it to the edge of the unfinished building.

"I even chipped one of my nails pushing it over. Do you know how much that manicure cost me? Almost a grand, custom crystals and all.

"I lost a manicure, but I gained a life: your life."

She straightened up and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Charles's aunt just happened to be taking a walk downstairs. That old lady came out every day at exactly three in the afternoon.

"Same route, same spot, more punctual than an alarm clock. I watched her for two full weeks."

My hand was shaking. Not from the pain.

"You know exactly what kind of clout the Ford family has. Kill his aunt, and Charles was bound to lose his mind. So who was going to take the hit for me?" She raised one finger and pointed at me. "You.

"There happened to be a property record under your name for that unfinished building, and it was right next to the building where I did it. Change the address, fake a property management record. Mom and Dad handled the rest."

She leaned back in her chair. "That down payment you spent three years saving—about a hundred twenty-nine grand—didn't even sit in your account for a month before Mom transferred it out. What do you think she used it for?

Bribing property management to alter the records, buying off those two fake eyewitnesses, wiping every trace of me from the real building. Your blood, sweat, and tears cleaned up my mess."

She stood up and picked up her purse. "Oh, and here's some good news. Charles asked me to dinner next week. He thinks I'm the only kind person in this family: brave enough to testify against my own sister."

She walked to the door, then turned back, bent down, and whispered in my ear. "Olivia, the most useful thing you've ever done in your life was be my stepping stone.

"First you spent nineteen years as my shield, taking all of Mom and Dad's patience and all their temper. And now you've taken a bullet for me too.

"When I marry into the Ford family, I'll bring flowers to your grave every year." She straightened up, brushed dust off her dress where there wasn't any, and clicked away in her heels.

The visitation room door shut behind her. I lowered my head and looked at my right hand, swollen dark purple. There was dried blood under my nails. The three broken fingers were trembling on their own.

Slowly, I slipped my other hand into the pocket of my prison uniform and touched the thing inside. A button-sized mini recorder. I'd sewn it into the lining of my bra before I was taken into the detention center.

Emily, every single word you just said was on it.