Chapter 43
Abigall
Marcy’s eyes were on me as she leaned even further back in her seat, arms crossed, her expression unreadable save for the flicker of defiance in her gaze. “You want the truth?” she asked, her voice tinged with bitterness. Fine. You told me to steal Susanna’s jewelry. That’s the truth.”
I blinked, my jaw tightening as I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. The same story. The same nonsense. It was beginning to annoy me. It was as if there was an invisible.teleprompter behind my back that was stuck on the words “You told me to steal Susanna’s jewelry“. Her stubbornness would have been impressive if it weren’t so enraging.
“Marcy,” I said, keeping my tone even, though irritation was starting to boil just beneath the surface, “you don’t have to keep saying that. You can be honest with me.”
Her lips twitched into a mocking smirk. “I am being honest Abigail. Why would I lie about that? You told me to do it, and I did. End of story.”
I bit back a sharp retort and exhaled slowly through my nose. “So, you’re saying that I–your employer, someone who trusted you in my home–asked you to steal Susanna’s jewelry, knowing it would get you in trouble? And then let you take the fall for it?**
Marcy shrugged, her nonchalance a slap to the face. “Look, it was a long while ago. I don’t see why you’re digging it up now. It’s over. Done with. I’ve already been humiliated enough by it, don’t you think? Getting dragged to the police station, sitting there until someone bailed me out? paid my price, Abigail. I don’t need you rubbing it in.” Her words were like gasoline on an open flame, but I clenched my fists behind my bag to keep my temper in check. “Marcy,” I said, leaning forward, my voice sharp, “this isn’t about humiliation. This is about the truth. I know Susanna put you up to it. She’s the one who orchestrated the whole thing, isn’t she?”
Marcy snorted, an ugly sound that made my teeth grind. “You’re mistaken,” she said breezily, waving a hand as if she could dismiss the entire conversation. “You’re making something out of nothing. Let’s just call it a misunderstanding and move on.”
I stared at her, my patience hanging by a thread. “What could Susanna have possibly done for you that’s making you so loyal to her? Why are you still sticking to this ridiculous story?
anything.
Her smirk faltered for just a moment, but she recovered quickly, shrugging again. “She didn’t do There’s no conspiracy here, Abigail. You’re looking for someone to blame, and you’ve convinced yourself it’s Susanna. But it’s not. Let it
I could feel my composure slipping, my blood pounding in my ears. “I’m not the naïve child you seem to think I am, Marcy,” I snapped. “I know about the money.”
Her head jerked up, her eyes narrowing. “What money?” she asked, but the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her.
I leaned forward, my voice low and cutting. “The sum of money that was transferred to your account around the time of the theft. The police investigation revealed that the account used to send it had no connection to me. So, I’m the one who supposedly asked you to steal Susanna’s jewelry, how did I pay you, Marcy? Because I know for a fact that you didn’t put yourself through the ‘humiliation of a police interrogation for nothing.”
Marcy fidgeted, her fingers drumming against the arm of her chair. “You’re mistaken,” she said again, her voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “You’re blowing this out of proportion.”
“Am I?” I challenged her, my voice rising. “If you’re so sure of your story, then answer me: how did I compensate you? Because someone did. Someone made sure you had enough incentive to risk everything, didn’t they?”
Chapter 43
#25 BONUS
She looked away, her gaze darting to the window, the floor anywhere but me. Her silence was damning, but it wasn’t the confession I needed. Not yet. I leaned back, taking a deep breath to steady myself.
“Marcy,” I said softly, almost pleadingly, “if Susanna paid you to frame me, just say so. I’m not here to ruin your life or drag you through the mud again. I just need the truth That’s all.”
She met my gaze finally, her jaw set, her eyes defiant. “You’re wrong,” she said firmly. “Let it go, Mrs. Remington. It’s in the past.”
I stared at her, my frustration and desperation threatening to choke me. She wasn’t going to budge. Her loyalty to Susanna- or maybe her fear of her–was unshakable. I needed another approach, something to break through the wall she had built around herself.
“Alright,” I said, my voice steady despite the storm inside the “If you won’t tell me the truth out of the goodness of your heart, then let me make you an offer.”
Her brow furrowed in confusion. “An offer?”
“Yes,” I said, my heart pounding as I took the gamble. “Whatever Susanna paid you, I’ll pay you three times as much. All I want is the truth, and the money is yours.”
Her eyes widened, her mouth opening slightly before she quickly shut it. I could see the wheels turning in her mind, the temptation flickering across her face. But then her expression hardened, and she shook her head. “You’re desperate,” she said, almost mockingly. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? Desperation.”
“I am desperate,” I admitted, my voice firm. “Because this goes beyond the petty theft Susanna put you up to. And I deserve the truth, Marcy.”
She didn’t respond immediately, her gaze dropping to her hands. The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating For a moment, I thought she might cave, that the weight of her guilt, or her greed, might finally tip the scales in my favor. If she could simply tell me when Susanna had convinced her to set me up, or if there was anyone Susanna had contacted to give her the money, I would leave her alone. Even a single name would be helpful.
But when she looked up again, her eyes were colder than ice.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” she said flatly. “You’re wrong, Mrs. Remington. And no amount of money is going to change that.”
Her words made me want to scream, but I forced myself to keep my expression neutral. “I see,” I said quietly, rising to my feet.
She watched me warily as I moved toward the door, her body tense as if expecting some last–ditch effort to force the truth out of her. But I simply opened the door, pausing for a moment to glance back at her.
“This isn’t over,” I said, forcing the words through gritted teeth. “Not by a long shot.”
And with that, I walked out, slamming the door harshly behind me.
