3. Amanda
— ? —
Amanda
The consultation room is small and gray.
Roman sits across from me, and his face is harder than I’ve ever seen it. We have minutes before they take me to interrogation.
“They’re going to ask me about the text,” he says. “I need you to understand what I’m going to do.”
“You’re going to tell them what you saw.”
“No.” He leans forward. “I’m going to deny it.”
“What?”
“Listen to me.” His voice is urgent, low. “I spent the last six hours with my tech contact trying to recover that message. It’s gone. Completely wiped from the server. Julian didn’t just delete it - he had someone scrub it at the infrastructure level.”
“So we tell them anyway. Your word against-”
“My word means nothing.” His hands clench on the table.
“I’m the family outcast. I’ve been publicly feuding with Julian for years.
If I walk in there and claim I saw a text that no longer exists, from a phone that shows no record of sending it, Julian’s lawyers will use it to discredit everything.
They’ll say I’m trying to frame him. They’ll say you and I conspired together. ”
“We didn’t conspire-”
“We spent the night together. Cemetery to interrogation room. If I’m your alibi and your witness, it looks coordinated.” He rubs his face. “I need time. Time to find evidence that can’t be wiped. Time to build a case that doesn’t depend on my testimony alone.”
“And in the meantime, I go to prison?”
The words hang between us. Roman’s face contorts with something that looks like physical pain.
“I’m going to get you out,” he says. “I swear to God, Amanda. But if I blow this now - if I give them ammunition to dismiss everything I might find later - you’ll never get out. Julian will make sure of it.”
I want to scream at him. I want to tell him he’s wrong, that the truth should be enough, that someone will believe us.
But I’ve been married to Julian Vance for three years. I know exactly how much truth matters when money is on the other side.
“How long?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Weeks. Months.” His eyes are wet. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But this is the only way I know how to save you.”
***
The interrogation room is exactly as cold as it looks on television.
Gray walls. Metal table. A mirror that everyone knows isn’t a mirror. The chair is hard plastic, and I’ve been sitting in it for six hours.
My gown is ruined. Grass stains, dirt, the dried blood from my ankles. My feet are bare - they took my heels when they processed me. Evidence, they said.
Evidence of what?
I didn’t do anything.
I didn’t do anything, and they’re looking at me like I’m a monster.
Detective Morrison has a kind face and tired eyes. He’s been patient with me. Almost gentle.
I don’t trust it.
“Let’s go through it one more time, Mrs. Vance.”
“I’ve told you. I left the party at approximately 10:45 PM. I walked. I didn’t take my car. The valet can tell you - I didn’t take my car.”
“The valet says he offered you your keys.”
“And I said no. I shook my head and walked.”
“Why would you walk? In that dress? Those shoes?”
“Because I wasn’t thinking clearly. Because I just found out my husband is sleeping with my sister. Because I needed to get out of that house before I-” I stop.
Morrison waits.
“Before you what, Mrs. Vance?”
“Before I said something I couldn’t take back.”
He writes something in his notebook. I can’t see what.
“We have witnesses,” he says. “Multiple guests saw you leave in a state of distress. Crying. Possibly intoxicated.”
“I wasn’t drunk.”
“How much did you have to drink that night?”
“I held a glass of champagne for an hour. I never took a single sip.”
“That’s not what the witnesses say.”
“Then the witnesses are lying.”
Morrison leans back in his chair. Studies me.
“Your phone data places you at the scene of the accident at 11:02 PM.”
My blood goes cold.
“That’s impossible. My phone was inside the house. On the charger. In the kitchen.”
“Then how do you explain-”
“I can’t explain it because it’s not true.” My voice cracks. “Someone moved my phone. Someone took my car. Someone is doing this to me.”
“Who would do that, Mrs. Vance?”
The door opens.
Julian walks in.
He looks perfect, of course. Fresh suit. Not a hair out of place. He looks like a man who’s been up all night out of concern for his poor, troubled wife.
He looks like a liar.
“Amanda.” He says my name like a sigh. Like I’m exhausting him. “What have you done?”
“What have I done?” I’m on my feet before I can stop myself. “You know exactly what happened. You know who was driving that car.”
“Mrs. Vance, please sit down-” Morrison starts.
“It was Vivienne!” I’m shouting now. I don’t care. “She took my keys. She was drunk - she was chasing you - she hit that person and now you’re both covering it up!”
Julian’s face is all sympathy and sorrow. For the detective’s benefit.
“She’s been under a lot of stress,” he says to Morrison. “I’ve been worried about her mental state for months.”
“You bastard.”
“Amanda, please. You’re not helping yourself.”
“I saw the text!” I whirl to face the detective. “Roman Vance - Julian’s brother - he received a text from my sister. She said, and I quote, ‘I think I hit someone, what do I do.’ He can verify. Check his phone.”
Morrison and Julian exchange a look.
Something cold settles in my stomach.
“We’ve already spoken to Mr. Roman Vance,” Morrison says. “He denies receiving any such text.”
No.
No.
“Check her phone then. Check Vivienne’s phone. The text came from-”
“We’ve recovered your sister’s phone. There’s no record of any text sent to Roman Vance or anyone else about the accident.”
“Because they deleted it! It was deleted remotely, I watched it disappear-”
“Mrs. Vance.” Morrison’s voice is gentle. Too gentle. “I understand you’re upset. But we have your car. We have witnesses. We have your phone data. And now we have you, making wild accusations against your own family.”
“They’re not wild. They’re true.”
The door opens again.
Vivienne appears in the doorway.
She’s wearing white. Demure. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her makeup carefully smudged to suggest she’s been crying.
She looks like a victim.
“That’s far enough, Ms. Reyes,” Morrison says. “You can observe through the glass.”
“I just - I need to see her.” Vivienne’s voice trembles. “I need to understand why she would-” She breaks off. Presses a hand to her stomach.
Her stomach.
I look closer. At the way her hand rests there. Protective. At the way Julian shifts almost imperceptibly toward her.
Oh God.
“You’re pregnant,” I whisper.
Vivienne’s eyes meet mine. And there it is - behind the tears, behind the trembling lip - satisfaction. That same look from the bedroom.
“Two months,” Julian says quietly. “We were going to tell you. We were trying to figure out how to-”
“You’re burying me.” My voice sounds far away. “You’re framing me for murder so you can bury me, and you can have her, and you can have your baby, and I just - I disappear. I was always temporary.”
“Amanda-” Julian starts.
“She was driving. You know she was driving. And you’re doing this to me anyway.”
“This is exactly what I was afraid of,” Julian says to Morrison. “The paranoia, the delusions. She needs help, not prosecution. I’ve been trying to get her into treatment for-”
I lunge at him.
I don’t even think about it. My body moves on its own, and I’m across the room, my hands reaching for his throat, his face, anything I can damage-
Morrison catches me. Pulls me back. Julian doesn’t even flinch.
“I think we’re done here,” Morrison says grimly. “Mrs. Vance, you’re being held pending formal charges.”
“NO-” I scream. “I didn’t do this. She did. She was driving, she killed that person, she texted about it-”
They’re dragging me toward the door. Julian watches with that same flat expression he had in the bedroom. Vivienne’s hand is still on her stomach.
“You’ll never prove it,” she mouths at me.
***
The holding cell is smaller than the interrogation room. Colder. There’s a bench and a toilet and a small window that looks out onto a parking lot.
I sit on the bench. I pull my knees to my chest. I try to remember how to breathe.
Everything I had is gone. My marriage. My sister. My name. My freedom.
And the worst part - the part that makes me want to scream until my throat bleeds - is that they’re going to get away with it. Vivienne will raise her baby in my house. Sleep in my bed. Wear my ring.
And I’ll be in prison for a crime she committed.
The door buzzes.
A guard appears. “Your lawyer’s here.”
“I don’t have a lawyer.”
“Well, someone’s here for you.”
I follow him down the hallway. My bare feet slap against the cold floor. My ruined gown drags behind me.
He leads me to a small room. Private consultation.
Roman is standing inside.
“How did you-”
“I hired an attorney. Best in the state.” He moves toward me, and I see desperation in his eyes. Barely contained. “I’ve been trying to get to you for hours. Julian had them lock me out - said I was interfering-”
“You told them you didn’t get the text.”
Roman stops.
“I saw you.” My voice breaks. “I saw them questioning you through the window an hour ago. You shook your head. You said no.”
“Amanda-”
“You said you wanted to help me. And then you lied to the police.”
“We talked about this. In the consultation room, before they separated us.” Roman’s voice is raw. “I explained why-”
“Explaining and experiencing are different things.” I wrap my arms around myself. “Sitting in that room, watching you deny it, watching them look at me like I was crazy-”
“I know. I know how it looked.” He reaches for me, then stops himself. “But I meant what I said. If I’d told them what I saw, Julian would have had me discredited before they could even follow up. He has people everywhere. Police. Lawyers. Judges.”
“So what do we have?”
“Time. And something Julian doesn’t know about.” Roman’s eyes bore into mine. “I’ve been building a case against my brother for fifteen years. Documents. Recordings. Every dirty deal, every buried scandal.”
“You said none of that proves what happened that night.”
“It doesn’t. Not directly. But it proves he’s a liar.
It proves he covers things up. When your appeals start - and they will start - his history is going to matter.
” He grips my shoulders. His hands are shaking.
Desperate. “I’m also working on the security footage.
Julian has cameras everywhere. He thinks he controls them all.
But there’s a backup system I set up years ago. He doesn’t know it exists.”
Hope flickers in my chest. Dangerous. Painful.
“You’re saying there might be footage? Of Vivienne taking my car?”
“Maybe. I need time to access it. Days, maybe weeks.” His jaw tightens. “I can’t promise anything. But I’m not giving up.”
“Why should I trust you? You just lied to the police. You let them think I was crazy-”
“Because everything I’ve done has been to protect you. Even when you didn’t know it. Even when you hated me for it.” Roman’s thumbs brush away tears I didn’t realize I was crying. “I’m not going to let him destroy you. Not while I’m still breathing.”
The door opens behind him. A guard.
“Time’s up. She’s being transferred to county.”
Roman doesn’t let go. His eyes stay locked on mine.
“Hold on,” he says. “Whatever they throw at you in there, you survive it. Can you do that for me?”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“You can. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.” He presses his forehead to mine. Just for a second. Just long enough for me to feel his breath, his certainty.
Then he steps back.
The guard takes my arm.
“Roman-”
“I’ll find you.” His voice follows me out the door. “No matter what happens, Amanda. I saw it. I’ll find proof.”
The door closes between us.
The guard leads me down another hallway, toward a transport van, toward a future I can’t imagine surviving.
But Roman’s words echo in my head. I saw it. I’ll find proof.
And for the first time since I walked into that bedroom - since my world collapsed into betrayal and blood and lies - I feel something other than despair.
Fury. Purpose. The first spark of something that might just save my life.
Or destroy everyone who tried to take it from me.