My Family Chose The Fake Heiress Then Begged For Me Back Chapter 07
It came out later that Mia had set the next phase in motion two weeks before her arrest.
Using a supplementary bank card Mom had given her years ago—linked to Mom’s account, not her own—she’d made three separate transfers totaling twenty thousand dollars into an anonymous account. She’d also contacted two men, both with prior records.
She thought using someone else’s card meant it couldn’t be traced back.
This wasn’t improvised. It was an insurance policy. Pre-loaded. If the framing failed, Plan B was physical.
After Mia posted bail, she went quiet. Reported to the station every day as required. Stayed in her room, door closed.
Mom walked past once and heard pages turning inside. She told Dad: “I think Mia’s really reflecting.”
Dad said nothing.
Meanwhile, the two men activated on schedule.
—
One Thursday afternoon, I went out for an iced coffee. Before I left, I did what I always do—texted Detective Reyes my live location and a photo of the apartment entrance.
Got my coffee. Went out again to pick up a delivery.
A white van was parked on the corner. I’d seen it earlier, in a different spot.
I took a photo. Sent it to Reyes.
Hey Detective Reyes—I’ve seen this van twice today. Is it one of the residents’?
His call came ten seconds later.
“Where are you right now?”
“The package locker.”
“Stay where you are. Stay in a crowd.”
“Wait—seriously? My iced coffee’s at home, the ice is going to melt—”
“Nora!”
“Okay, okay. Not moving.”
Reyes hung up and pulled three days of surveillance from around my building.
The van had first appeared two days ago.
Every time it showed up, the timing matched exactly with when I left the house.
Two men inside. One with a reckless driving conviction. One with an assault charge.
Fifteen minutes later, the van was pulled over at the intersection on my route home.
In the back seat: a modified steering wheel lock.
On the passenger’s phone—a deleted call, recovered by the tech unit. The incoming number matched one of Mia’s burner accounts. Same one she’d used to post smear campaigns about me online.
The message: “Make it look like a traffic accident. Keep it clean.”
Mom’s supplementary card transactions locked it down: three transfers, staggered over several days, all completed before Mia’s arrest. The amounts matched the anonymous account exactly.
—
That evening, the police came.
When Mia saw the arrest warrant, she froze for two seconds.
Then she peeled off her face mask and set it neatly on the nightstand.
“I’d like to call my lawyer.”
Nobody answered her.
The charges had changed.
Fraud. Fabrication of evidence. Attempted murder.
She was led downstairs. Callum was standing at the end of the hallway.
She walked past him.
Then she turned her head, just slightly.
“Cal. Tell Mom the yogurt in the fridge expires tomorrow.”
A pause.
“And that I’ll miss you guys.”
Her voice was soft. Light.
Exactly the same as every time she’d ever asked him to spoil her. Every birthday. Every favor. Every little-sister pout over eighteen years.
Callum didn’t move.
He watched her get into the squad car. The door closed. The taillights disappeared around the corner.
He stood there for a long time.
A nearby officer asked if he wanted to sit down.
He shook his head.
His voice was barely there.
“I spoiled her for eighteen years.”
“From the very beginning, I was spoiling a monster.”
—
Late that night, Mom knocked on my door.
When I opened it, she dropped to her knees.
“Nora. I’m sorry.”
Dad stood behind her. His back was bent deep.
“Give this family a chance.”
I looked down at Mom.
This woman. Day one, she told me to be nicer to Mia. The room incident, she said I’d disappointed her. The eight-hundred-thousand debacle, she grabbed my wrist and said she should never have brought me home.
Now she was kneeling.
I bent down and helped her up.
Nodded once.
Said one word.
“Noted.”
Then I closed the door.
I didn’t say “okay.”
I didn’t say “it’s fine.”
This time—for the first time—I gave no answer at all.