My Family Chose The Fake Heiress Then Begged For Me Back Chapter 05
The video quality wasn’t great—grainy, washed-out, the way construction site cameras always are. The footage was grainy, but clear enough.
Mia walked into a different room in the same building. Alone.
No one followed her. No one pushed her. No one touched her throat.
She pulled a length of rope from her handbag. Wound it around her own wrist—tight, methodical—once, twice, three times—pressing hard enough to leave welts. Then she held up her phone, front camera on, and examined her neck in the screen. Compared the marks. Frowned. Added another loop, higher up, pressing the cord into the skin until the bruising looked right.
The whole time, nobody else was in the room.
Because the second camera—the one facing the balcony—showed me climbing out ten minutes earlier. Landing on the sand pile. Stumbling, catching my balance.
Looking up at the camera.
Waving.
Grinning.
Callum’s face lost its color slowly, like a photograph left out in the sun.
He looked down at his hands. The right one—the one that had shoved me into the coffee table.
There was still blood under his fingernails.
His hands began to shake.
Mom sank onto the sofa, too stunned to speak.
Dad pressed his palm to his forehead and closed his eyes.
Mia dropped to her knees.
“I got confused—I really did—I was so scared I couldn’t think straight—”
Nobody answered.
Dad switched to the foundation’s security feed. Timestamp: the night of the handover. Mia, using a backup key to open the office safe. Removing the security token. Next morning: Mia carrying my bag into the restroom. Coming out two minutes later. The zipper was on the opposite side.
That’s when the token was planted.
The cloud chat logs appeared on the laptop screen. What Mia had shown the family—the edited screenshots—versus what actually existed.
Everything she’d recalled was still there, preserved with original timestamps.
I’ve already run the approval—just reply “got it” and don’t worry about anything else.
The token’s taken care of, don’t stress about it.
Delete these messages from me when you’re done, okay? 😊
And below each one:
Got it.
Okay.
Still there. Every word.
Mia’s face went completely bloodless.
She crawled forward on her knees and grabbed Mom’s hand.
“Mom, believe me—I never meant to hurt her—I was just so scared—”
Mom looked down at her.
She didn’t pull her close. Not this time.
Mia turned to Callum.
“Cal…”
Callum took a step back. Almost involuntary.
He was staring at my forehead. The cut was still seeping.
His fists clenched at his sides.
The living room was quiet for a long time.
Dad stood up, closed the laptop, and handed it to the officer who’d just arrived. He didn’t say a single unnecessary word.
I pulled a tissue from the box on the coffee table. Wiped the blood off my eyebrow. Casually—like it didn’t hurt at all.
Folded the tissue. Set it down.
Looked up.
“I said yes. I didn’t say I did it.”
—
The police froze the foundation’s accounts. The forensic accounting unit carried out six boxes of records.
That evening, the auditor called Dad.
“Mr. Aldrich. We need to talk.”
“How bad?”
“Very.”
Dad went into his study and shut the door.
Forty minutes later—a crash. Something ceramic hitting a wall.
Mom ran to the door. When it opened, Dad looked like he’d aged a decade.
He was holding a preliminary audit report. Knuckles white.
“The Homeward Foundation’s books are fraudulent. All three years.”
Mom didn’t understand. “What do you mean?”
“Forty-three of the listed aid recipients don’t exist. The Social Security numbers are fabricated. The receipts are forged. Every dollar allocated to them was routed back through shell companies—LLCs registered to Mia’s college friends, or to Mia herself.”
He dropped the report on the table.
“Three years. One point two million dollars.”
Mom grabbed the doorframe.
“That’s impossible… Mia did annual reports… the press covered them…”
“The press worked from data Mia provided.”
Dad’s voice was raw.
“The Homeward Foundation is registered under the Aldrich name. You don’t get to use it to improve the Aldrich name or help the company. Banks, investors, partners—they’ve all reviewed those reports. Now every single one of them is a live grenade.”
Mom stood there a long time. Then:
“Where did the money go?”
Dad didn’t answer.
He opened his tablet and pulled up the audit appendix.
Mia Aldrich: annual VIP client at a luxury fashion house. Cumulative spending: three hundred and eighty thousand dollars.
The line item in the foundation’s books: Winter supplies procurement for at-risk youth.
Mom looked at the number. Slowly, she lowered herself to the floor.
She didn’t cry. But it was worse than crying.