Chapter 14
1144words
Maria sat on the sofa in my apartment, holding a cup of hot tea, with tension and excitement in her eyes.
"Madam met with a police officer last night," she said in a lowered voice, "at that Italian restaurant in the city center. I overheard their conversation."
I put down the documents in my hand and looked at her with full attention, "Go on."
"The police officer's name is Tommy Reid. He has a lot of gambling debts, and Mrs. Sterling gave him a large sum of money." Maria's voice was trembling, "They were discussing how to... how to place Rio's body somewhere."
The corners of my lips slowly curved upward. Serafina and her calculating mother were actually trying to frame Jax. They thought they were being clever, not knowing they were paving the way for me.
"What location did they decide on?"
"An old warehouse owned by the Thorn family, over in the industrial zone. It's scheduled for demolition next month." Maria nervously rubbed her hands together, "Miss Vance, this is too dangerous. If the police really..."
"If the police really discover something, that's exactly what I want." I stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. "Maria, you've done very well. Now, I need you to do one last thing."
The next morning, an anonymous call was made to the police station.
"I smelled something strange near the old warehouse in the industrial area," the female voice on the phone sounded nervous and worried, "it seems like something is buried there. The address is 42 Seventh Street in the industrial zone."
Two hours later, the sound of police sirens broke the silence of the industrial area.
I sat in a cafe three blocks away from the warehouse, watching the gathering police cars and ambulances through the window. Julian sat across from me, elegantly stirring his coffee.
"Are you sure this is the right thing to do?" he asked, but there was no concern in his eyes, only pure curiosity.
"Absolutely right." I took a sip of my latte, "Serafina and her group wanted to frame Jax, I'm just... going with the flow."
My phone started vibrating frantically. News alerts flooded in one after another:
"Body found in steel factory district!"
"Missing wealthy heir death case escalates!"
"Thorn family implicated in major murder case!"
Julian looked at the constantly refreshing news headlines on my phone screen, a glint of appreciation flashing in his eyes, "You're truly a genius."
At three in the afternoon, the official press conference began. Julian and I sat together in his hospital office, watching the live broadcast.
The police chief stood before the microphone, his expression grave: "At ten o'clock this morning, following a citizen's report, we discovered a male body in an abandoned warehouse scheduled for demolition in the industrial district. After preliminary verification, the deceased has been identified as Mr. Leonard Ashford, who went missing three weeks ago."
The camera switched to the warehouse scene. Police officers were removing something from a large oil drum sealed with cement...
I turned off the television. I didn't need to see those images; I already knew the outcome.
My phone rang again. This time, it was an unknown number.
"Is this Elira Vance?" The voice on the phone was male and sounded tense, "I'm Jeff Thompson, a reporter from the City Herald. I'd like to talk to you about Leonard Ashford. We've learned that you are a Professor Davis at St. Catherine's Academy, and the deceased was previously at that school..."
I hung up the phone immediately.
Julian looked at me, "The media has started moving."
"Let them dig," I unlocked my phone again and started browsing social media, "The deeper they dig, the more thoroughly Jax dies."
Social media was already exploding:
"#Thorn Family trending #1 worldwide"
"Jax Thorne suspected of murdering his best friend? Horrifying!"
"Is friendship among the rich really this fake?"
"Cancel Thorn brands! We won't buy clothes from a murderer!"
By evening, things had developed beyond everyone's expectations.
The video of Jax being taken away by the police for questioning went viral online. In the video, his face was pale, lit up by camera flashes like a clown on stage. He tried to cover his face, but reporters swarmed around him, thrusting microphones toward him.
"Mr. Thorn! Do you have anything to say about Rio's death?"
"Is this because of business disputes?"
"Do you know why the body was found in your family's warehouse?"
Jax said nothing, just got into the police car accompanied by his lawyer.
I received a text message from an unknown number:
"You bitch, this is all your doing! I know it was you!"
I guessed it was from Serafina. She finally realized that her "perfect plan" had turned into a fatal blow to her strongest ally.
I replied with a simple emoji: 😊
The next day, the front page headline of the City Herald was a shocking photo: police tape around a warehouse in the industrial district, with a huge title:
"Thorn Family Heir Suspected of Murder: The Deadly Secret Behind Elite Friendships"
The article detailed Rio's death process and the possible business dispute between him and Jax. Most critically, the article mentioned the "Heirs Club" - that elite inner circle composed of Serafina, Jax, Rio and others.
Now, every member of this small circle has been listed by the police as a key suspect.
Looking at the newspaper, I felt an almost intoxicating sense of satisfaction. After years of planning, the moment to close the net had finally arrived.
Julian embraced me from behind, whispering in my ear: "You've succeeded."
"Not completely yet," I leaned into his arms, "but we're very close."
My phone rang again, this time it was Serafina's number. I answered but didn't speak.
"What exactly do you want?" Her voice sounded on the verge of collapse, "Money? Status? Or..."
"What I want is very simple." I said calmly, "I want all of you to taste what it feels like to be destroyed."
"You're insane! The police will track you down!"
"No, they won't." I hung up the phone.
Because the police will never suspect a victim. And in everyone's eyes, I will always be that pitiful, bullied teacher from the bottom of society.
A few minutes later, the doorbell rang.
Through the peephole, I saw Damian Blackstock. He was wearing a disheveled suit, his eyes were bloodshot, and his face was filled with anger and despair.
He stood outside my door for a long time, then slowly raised his hand and knocked.
"Miss Vance, I know you're in there." His voice was low and dangerous, "We need to talk. About my daughter."
