Chapter 12: The Woman With Two Stories
The message changed everything.
Not because I believed it immediately.
Because I didn’t.
After years of investigations, I learned one rule.
The first person to accuse someone is not always telling the truth.
And the first person to warn you is not always saving you.
Everyone has a reason.
Everyone has something they want.
I returned to the room.
Lydia was standing beside the window.
She saw my expression.
“What happened?””
I held up the phone.
Her face changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
“You got a message.””
“Yes.””
She looked at Detective Harris.
“From who?””
“Thomas.””
The silence that followed was heavier than shouting.
Lydia looked away.
“What did he say?””
I watched her carefully.
“Don’t trust Lydia.””
She closed her eyes.
Then whispered:
“He found me.””
My daughter looked confused.
“What does that mean?””
Lydia turned around.
“It means he knows.””
“Knows what?””
She didn’t answer.
And that bothered me.
“Lydia.””
She looked at me.
“You want the truth?””
“Yes.””
“Then you need to know something.””
She sat down.
“When I first met Thomas…”
Everyone froze.
“You knew him?””
She nodded.
“He was investigating the same family.””
Detective Harris frowned.
“Then why didn’t you mention that?””
“Because I thought he was dead.””
My daughter looked between us.
“What are you saying?””
Lydia looked at her.
“I’m saying your father wasn’t only investigating them.””
She paused.
“He was close to exposing them.””
I stared at her.
“Why would Thomas warn me about you?””
Lydia looked down.
“Because he doesn’t know the whole story.””
That answer irritated me.
“Then explain.””
She took a breath.
“After my case was buried, I disappeared.””
“I know.””
“No.””
She shook her head.
“You know what they told you.””
The room went quiet.
“What really happened?””
Lydia looked at Detective Harris.
“Robert Vale helped me escape.””
Nobody moved.
The words made no sense.
“The man who destroyed your case helped you?””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
“Because he changed.””
I stared at her.
“People don’t change that easily.””
“No.””
Her voice became softer.
“They break.””
That answer stayed with me.
Lydia continued.
“Robert Vale helped me disappear because he realized what the Carter family was doing.””
Detective Harris stepped closer.
“Then why did he bury the case?””
“Because he was trapped.””
“By who?””
Lydia looked toward the hallway camera.
“By people more powerful than him.””
I felt a headache forming.
Too many secrets.
Too many hidden connections.
My daughter looked exhausted.
“Who do we believe?””
Nobody answered.
Because that was the real question.
Not who was guilty.
Who was telling enough truth to be useful?
Then Detective Harris received another alert.
She checked her phone.
“What now?””
She looked at me.
“The old investigation files were accessed.””
“By who?””
She showed me.
My breath stopped.
The access name.
*Colonel Carter.*
My own credentials.
“That’s impossible.””
Detective Harris looked at me.
“You didn’t access them?””
“No.””
Someone had used my identity.
Again.
And this time, they wanted us to know.
My daughter whispered:
“They’re setting you up.””
I looked at the screen.
The pattern was clear.
They didn’t just destroy evidence.
They created new versions of reality.
Versions where victims looked guilty.
Versions where witnesses looked unstable.
Versions where investigators looked corrupt.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
No one spoke.
Only breathing.
Then a familiar voice.
Not Thomas.
Not Robert.
A woman.
My daughter’s mother-in-law.
“You should have taken your daughter home when we offered.””
My grip tightened.
“What do you want?””
A soft laugh.
“You still don’t understand.””
“Understand what?””
“You think this is about Emma.””
I looked at my daughter.
She was listening.
The woman continued.
“It never was.””
The line crackled.
“It was about you.””
I said nothing.
Then she whispered:
“Come to the old building alone.””
A pause.
“Or the next file we release won’t be about your daughter.””
My blood ran cold.
“What file?””
Her voice lowered.
“The one proving you failed your first victim.””
The call ended.
And on the screen appeared a new message.
A photograph.
A file.
My name.
May you like
And a word beneath it.
*CULPRIT.*
