Chapter 4 - The Visitor in the Visiting Box
The county jail smelled of bleach, damp concrete, and unwashed wool. I spent twelve hours in an intake holding tank, wrapped in a threadbare blanket, watching the digital clock on the wall tick toward dawn with agonizing slowness. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the orange glow of the porch collapsing. I saw the soot on Tyler's face.
At 8:30 AM, instead of being escorted to the transport bus for the courthouse, a guard tapped his nightstick against the cell bars.
"Vance. Visitor."
I stood up, my muscles screaming from the concrete bench. "My lawyer?"
"Didn't say. Just said it's private counsel."
They led me down a narrow corridor to a glass-partitioned visitation booth. On the other side of the scratched, grease-smudged acrylic panel sat a woman dressed in an immaculate ivory cashmere coat. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a severe, elegant chignon, and her manicured fingers rested delicately beside the black telephone receiver.
*Victoria Sterling.*
My brother’s fiancé. The woman who had wept on my shoulder when Tyler relapsed on oxycodone; the woman who had helped Evelyn organize her medication schedules every Sunday afternoon.
My heart hammered as I sat down on the bolted metal stool and picked up the heavy plastic receiver.
"Victoria," I said, my voice shaking against the perforated mouthpiece. "Victoria, thank God. Did you hear what happened? They have Tyler. They think—they’re saying Gran was in the house. Where have you been?"
Victoria didn't pick up the phone immediately. She tilted her head, studying my face with the clinical, amused curiosity of a child examining an insect pinned beneath a glass cup.
Slowly, deliberately, she lifted her receiver to her ear.
"You look awful, Maya," she said, her voice smooth, melodic, and entirely devoid of grief. "Orange really isn't your color. But I suppose you'll have about forty years to get used to it."
The breath died in my lungs.
"What did you say?"
Victoria smiled. It was a terrifying, beautiful expression that didn't reach her pale blue eyes. "I said you look terrible. But considering you barely survived the night, I suppose you should be grateful."
"You..." The realization hit me like an electric shock traveling straight up my spine. "It was you. The clinic. You came to drop off Tyler's dog's flea medication yesterday afternoon. You were in the breakroom."
"Of course I was," she murmured, adjusting a diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist. "Your staff is so trusting, Maya. 'Oh, Victoria! Come right in, Maya's in surgery!' It took me less than three minutes to clone your SIM card, grab your spare North Face jacket from the hook, and slip the burner into Tyler’s glove compartment."
"Why?" Tears burned behind my eyelids, but hot, blinding rage kept them from falling. "Why Tyler? He loved you! He would have done anything for you!"
"Tyler is an idiot," she said flatly, the warmth vanishing from her face like water thrown on hot iron. "He’s a weak, sniveling addict with bad credit and worse instincts. But he had one very useful asset: he was the disgruntled, jealous brother who had publicly threatened to burn your life down after you took over the family estate."
She leaned closer to the acrylic glass, her breath misting slightly against the partition.
"Do you know how much a logistics firm is willing to pay for your grandmother's forty acres, Maya? The new interstate bypass is cutting straight through the lower ridge. The state approved the zoning variance six weeks ago. That dirt isn't worth seven million dollars. It's worth *twenty-two* million."
"You forged the trust documents," I whispered.
"I didn't forge anything," Victoria smiled. "Your brother brought the papers to Evelyn. He told her it was a petition to block the highway expansion. The poor old bat signed her name without her reading glasses on."
"And Evelyn?" My voice broke, my nails digging into the plastic receiver until the casing creaked. "Where is she, Victoria? Is she... was that her in the house?"
Victoria didn't answer. She simply looked at her manicured nails, letting the silence stretch out like an executioner’s rope.
"You were supposed to be asleep in that bed, Maya," Victoria whispered, her eyes locking onto mine with lethal intensity. "Tyler was told the house would be empty, yes. But I made sure your car was parked in the driveway. I made sure your favorite tea kettle was left on the stove. Tyler thought he was committing an insurance scam for quick cash. He didn't know you were supposed to die in the blaze."
"You wanted us both dead," I said, cold horror washing over me. "Tyler takes the blame for arson and murder. I die in the fire. And as Tyler’s legal spouse..."
Victoria tapped the glass with her diamond ring.
*Clink. Clink.*
On the third finger of her left hand sat a plain platinum band, nestled beneath the diamond.
"We eloped in Reno three weeks ago," she whispered. "Quiet ceremony. Tyler signed over full power of attorney to his loving wife while he awaits trial. Once he's convicted—or once he mysteriously hangs himself in his cell from the sheer 'guilt' of killing his sister and his grandmother—every single cent of the Vance estate falls into my lap."
"I'll tell Miller," I hissed, leaning so hard against the glass the metal stool groaned. "I'll tell him every single word you just said! They'll subpoena your phone records! They'll find the foreign accounts!"
Victoria laughed—a soft, musical sound that made the hair on the back of my neck bristle.
"Tell him whatever you like, Maya. Who is the detective going to believe? An accused arsonist whose fingerprints are on the trust documents, whose phone made the hit calls, whose brother has already confessed to running the scheme on her payroll? Or the grieving sister-in-law who has an airtight alibi dining with the Mercer County District Attorney at a charity banquet all evening?"
She stood up, smoothing the front of her ivory coat.
"Evelyn was tough, I'll give her that," Victoria added, pausing before turning toward the exit. "She fought Tyler when he tried to drag her into the sedan. She broke a ceramic lamp over his shoulder. That's why he was bleeding when the police caught him. But in the end... well, smoke inhalation is an awful way to go."
"Victoria!" I screamed, slamming the phone against the partition. "Victoria!"
May you like
She didn't turn back. She pushed through the heavy steel door, leaving me holding the dead plastic receiver in an empty, cold room, screaming until the guards grabbed my arms and dragged me backward into the dark.
***
