Chapter 5 - THE PRICE OF SILENCE
The arrest of Victoria and Alysia Westfield was not silent.
As the deputies led them out the front entrance of the mansion, three local news crews—tipped off by Ethan’s public relations team—were waiting at the end of the driveway. Cameras flashed continuously, capturing the iconic images of the grand Virginia matriarch and her socialite daughter being shoved into the back of separate police cruisers in handcuffs.
Harper remained in the dining room, staring blankly at the cold teapot on the table.
I stood in the center of the foyer, watching the movers Ethan had hired pack up my childhood belongings—the piano music, my grandmother’s antique sketches, my architectural books.
Ethan walked up behind me, placing a gentle hand on my sound right shoulder.
"You don't ever have to set foot in this house again," he said softly.
"I know," I replied, turning to look at the grand staircase where I had once spent hours hiding from my mother's criticism. "I thought I would feel guilty. I thought some part of me would want to save them."
"You spent twenty-eight years trying to save them, Ariana," Ethan said, his gray eyes searching mine. "It was never your job to be their sacrifice."
Two days later, the news broke across every major financial and news network on the East Coast.
WESTFIELD FAMILY ESTATE SEIZED AMID ATTEMPTED MURDER AND INSURANCE FRAUD CHARGES.
The social world my mother had spent her entire life trying to conquer dissolved instantly. The charities stripped her name from their boards. The country clubs canceled her membership. Their high-society friends stopped answering calls overnight.
In the Fairfax County Detention Center, Victoria refused to eat the jail food, demanding her personal attorney arrange bail. But given the severity of the charges—attempted first-degree murder, conspiracy, and insurance fraud exceeding five million dollars—the judge set bail at ten million dollars cash each.
Harper couldn't pay it. His accounts were frozen by federal auditors examining the fraudulent financial declarations he had submitted to cover his commercial losses.
On Thursday morning, I received a call from Victoria’s lead defense attorney, begging for a private meeting at his office in downtown DC.
Ethan and I arrived at 2:00 PM.
The attorney, a weary-looking man named Richard Sterling, pushed a thin document across his mahogany desk.
"Mrs. Hawthorne—"
"Miss Westfield," I corrected him sharply. "I haven't married yet."
Sterling cleared his throat. "Miss Westfield, your mother and sister are facing twenty-five years to life in a state penitentiary. Their current legal team recognizes that their defense is untenable given the forensic evidence gathered by Hawthorne Global."
"Then why are we here, Mr. Sterling?" Ethan asked coldly.
"Victoria is willing to sign a full confession regarding the financial fraud and the insurance plot," Sterling said, leaning forward. "She will accept a plea agreement for fifteen years, provided you agree to drop the attempted murder charges against Alysia."
I looked at the attorney in sheer disbelief.
Even now, sitting in a concrete cell facing a quarter-century behind bars, Victoria was still playing her sick game of favor. She was willing to sacrifice herself just to keep Alysia—her 'golden daughter'—from spending her youth in a prison suit.
"She wants to save Alysia," I whispered, a dark, bitter smile touching my lips.
"Alysia was young, she was influenced by her mother—" Sterling began.
"Alysia pushed me," I interrupted, leaning across the desk until Sterling had to look me dead in the eye. "Alysia leaned into my ear and whispered that I was never supposed to have the life I earned. She knew exactly what she was doing, Mr. Sterling."
May you like
I pulled the plea offer across the desk and tore it cleanly in half.
"Tell my mother," I said, dropping the shredded paper into his trash bin, "that she spent my entire life showing me who mattered and who didn't. Now she can watch a jury decide the exact same thing for her."
