Chapter 4 - The Uninvited Rehearsal Video
“Doctor! How is she?” I tore myself away from the pathetic sight of Julian pinned against the wall, rushing toward Dr. Chen. My heart felt as though it were hammering against my ribs, threatening to crack the bone.
Dr. Chen offered a weary, reassuring nod. “She’s out of surgery and currently in the Post-Anesthesia Care Unit. We successfully reduced the clavicle fracture with a titanium pin, and the pelvic fracture is stable—thankfully, it won't require invasive reconstruction, just six to eight weeks of strict immobilization and physical therapy. The most concerning element was a small subdural hematoma on the right temporal lobe, but the intracranial pressure has stabilized. She is awake, coherent, and demanding to see her granddaughter.”
A sob of pure, unadulterated relief broke from my chest. I buried my face in my hands, the terrifying weight that had been crushing my lungs for the last three hours finally lifting.
“Can I see her?”
“Five minutes,” Dr. Chen said gently. “She’s heavily medicated for pain, but she’s stubbornly refusing to rest until she speaks with you.”
I turned toward Arthur. “Watch him,” I said, nodding toward Julian, whose face was still pale with shock, staring blankly at the floor.
“Don't worry about Julian, darling,” Arthur said with a cold, terrifying smile. “The Port Authority Police and the NYPD Financial Crimes Task Force are already waiting in the lobby downstairs. Mr. Miller, escort our guest to the elevator. Let’s make sure he doesn't miss his welcoming committee.”
Miller dragged Julian toward the elevators like a sack of wet laundry. Julian didn't fight back; his spirit was completely broken, his mind racing through the inescapable reality of the twenty-five-year cage that had just snapped shut around him.
I followed Dr. Chen through the double doors, down a quiet, dimly lit corridor that smelled of antiseptic and clean linens, stopping outside Room 314.
I pushed the door open gently.
Nana Betty looked so small in the wide hospital bed. Her left arm was immobilized in a rigid medical sling, a white bandage was wrapped securely around her silver head, and an IV drip was humming quietly beside her pillow. But despite the bruising that darkened her cheekbone and the tubes running into her wrist, her eyes—bright, sharp, and unmistakably Vance—were wide open and focused on the door.
“Nana,” I breathed, rushing to the bedside and taking her uninjured right hand in both of mine.
“Look at you,” she whispered, her voice gravelly and raspy from the intubation tube, but her grip on my fingers surprisingly strong. “Crying over an old woman… and ruining that lovely dress.”
“The dress doesn't matter,” I laughed through my tears, pressing a kiss to the back of her bruised hand. “Nothing matters except that you're alive. You're going to be okay, Nana. The doctor said the surgery went perfectly.”
Nana Betty smiled faintly, though the movement clearly caused her pain. “Of course it went perfectly. Did you think a tumble down a few limestone steps was going to finish off Betty Vance? I survived the London blitz when I was a toddler, Chloe. It takes more than a greedy little social climber in six-inch Louboutins to put me in the ground.”
I let out a wet, breathless laugh, resting my forehead against the edge of the mattress. “You knew. You knew what they were planning.”
“I didn't know the exact hour,” Nana said softly, her gaze drifting toward the small window showing the gray Manhattan skyline. “Julian was always too smooth, Chloe. A man with nothing to hide has rough edges. Julian was polished like a river stone—completely frictionless. When he brought that girl Vanessa to the house for Thanksgiving last year, I saw the way she looked at my grandfather’s silver tea set. She didn't look at it like a guest admiring family history. She looked at it like an appraiser calculating scrap weight.”
She turned her head back to me, her blue eyes piercing. “Did Arthur get the chip from my locket?”
“Yes. He’s already handing it over to the Financial Crimes Task Force.”
“Good,” Nana Betty whispered, a look of profound satisfaction settling over her weathered features. “Let them rot. But Chloe… there is one more thing you need to know.”
Before she could continue, the door to Room 314 clicked open.
I turned around, expecting Uncle Arthur. Instead, a young man wearing a wrinkled corduroy jacket, black jeans, and carrying a heavy Pelican camera case stepped hesitantly into the room.
It was Leo Callahan—the wedding photographer Vanessa had hired six months ago.
“Chloe?” Leo whispered, looking thoroughly terrified as he glanced at the armed guard stationed just outside the glass door. “The gentleman outside… Mr. Vance… he told me I could come in for two minutes.”
I stood up, stepping defensively between Leo and Nana’s bed. “Leo? What are you doing here? Did Vanessa send you?”
“No! God, no!” Leo held up both hands in surrender, setting his heavy case onto the visitor’s chair. “Chloe, you don't understand. Vanessa didn't hire me because I'm a famous wedding photographer. She hired me because she thought I was an amateur kid who needed the money and wouldn't ask questions. She told me to make sure my camera was pointed away from the steps during the family portraits.”
My eyes narrowed. “And were you?”
Leo swallowed hard, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a high-speed Sony CFexpress memory card.
“I’m an independent documentary filmmaker, Chloe. I don't point my camera away when something smells wrong,” Leo said, his voice firming up with quiet conviction. “When Vanessa started screaming at your grandmother about the yellow dress, I didn't turn off my camera. I switched to continuous 4K high-frame-rate recording with directional boom audio. I caught everything.”
He stepped forward, holding out the small black card.
“I have the entire assault on cinema-grade video,” Leo said. “I have Vanessa grabbing your grandmother’s collar. I have the shove. I have the audio of Vanessa saying, *‘Die out of the frame, you old rag.’* And because I had a telephoto lens trained on her hands… I caught her phone screen reflecting in the church window two seconds before she dropped it.”
The room went dead silent.
Even Nana Betty’s steady heart monitor seemed to pause its rhythmic cadence.
“Why are you giving this to me?” I asked, staring at the tiny piece of plastic that held the absolute, indisputable destruction of Vanessa Cross. “Vanessa paid your deposit.”
Leo offered a sad, honest smile. “My mother died in a nursing home three years ago, Chloe. She had an old floral dress she loved, too. When I saw that woman push your grandmother down the stairs, I didn't see a bridal dispute. I saw a monster. Keep the card. Use it. Ruin them.”
I took the card from his fingers. It felt cold, feather-light, yet it weighed more than a ton of dynamite.
“Thank you, Leo,” I said softly.
May you like
“Don't thank me yet,” Leo added, his expression turning grim. “You might want to check the local news apps. Vanessa isn't at the precinct filing a report. She just went live on Instagram from the steps of the Plaza Hotel.”
***
