Chapter 5 - The Reckoning of Blood
I took a step backward, letting the cold air between us form an impenetrable wall.
“I gave you permission to destroy Grandpa’s violin?” I asked, my voice carrying the crisp weight of an executioner.
“The violin he played when our family had nothing?”
“The violin you called a dusty piece of junk twenty minutes ago?”
Vanessa’s hands hovered in mid-air, trembling violently.
“I was mad! You wouldn’t give me the dress!”
“You always hoard everything for yourself!”
“You get the standing ovations, you get the European trips, you get the fancy dinners!”
“What do I get? I get to sit in the audience and pretend to be proud of you!”
“I deserved to have something beautiful tonight too!”
The sheer, narcissistic audacity of her words hung in the sterile boardroom air like toxic smoke.
Even the two police officers exchanged a weary, disgusted glance.
Mom rushed forward, grabbing my wrists with desperate, claw-like intensity.
“Claire, listen to your mother for once in your selfish life!”
“If Vanessa gets arrested tonight, her name will be in the papers by sunrise!”
“Your father’s investors will pull their capital from his firm!”
“Our family name will be completely dragged through the mud while you play your fancy fiddle!”
“Drop these ridiculous charges right now!”
“Grandpa is dead anyway! He doesn’t care about a piece of broken wood!”
Hearing her dismiss her own father’s memory snapped the very last thread of familial obligation in my chest.
I peeled my mother’s fingers off my arms, one by one, with cold disgust.
“Grandpa gave that violin to me because he knew neither of you had a soul,” I said quietly.
“And you’re right, Mom.”
“The family name is going to be in the papers tomorrow morning.”
“Alongside the news that Vanessa Vance has been formally disqualified from the Hayes Arts Fellowship.”
Vanessa let out a strangled, animalistic shriek.
“What did you say?”
The boardroom door opened once more, and Eleanor Hayes entered, supported by her ivory cane.
Behind her stood two junior board trustees and the executive director of the foundation.
Eleanor didn’t even look at Vanessa; she addressed Arthur Vance directly.
“Has the police report been formally logged, Arthur?”
“Yes, Mrs. Hayes,” the attorney responded crisply.
“The precinct has processed the digital evidence package.”
Eleanor turned her gaze upon Vanessa, looking at her like an insect crushed against a pristine windshield.
“Miss Vance, your application for our junior arts marketing program has been permanently terminated.”
“Furthermore, our legal team will be filing a civil suit to recover punitive damages for the distress caused to our principal soloist.”
“Your father’s firm has also been removed from our commercial vendor registry as of ten minutes ago.”
Vanessa’s knees gave out completely.
She collapsed onto the carpet, clutching the hem of the stolen silk dress, hyperventilating.
“Mom... Mom, do something!” Vanessa wailed, clutching at her mother’s skirt like a terrified toddler.
“Call Dad! Tell him to fix this! Tell him to make Claire stop!”
Mom pulled out her phone with shaking hands, dialing frantically, her face flushed purple with rage.
“Richard! Get down here right now!” Mom screamed into the speaker.
“Claire has called the police on your daughter!”
“She’s having her arrested right in front of the board!”
I didn’t stay to listen to my father’s frantic, booming shouts through the phone speaker.
I turned toward the lead police officer, extending my hands calmly.
“Officers, I am prepared to sign the sworn complaint for grand larceny and criminal mischief.”
“Take her into custody.”
The metal cuffs clicked around Vanessa’s wrists with a clean, definitive snap.
Her screams of outrage and panic echoed down the marble corridors of Lincoln Center as she was led away.
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She was wearing my stolen emerald dress.
She had wanted everyone in New York to look at her tonight.
