A display frame had fallen against the stairwell.
I pushed past it, burning my hands through the fabric of my sleeves.
Upstairs, the office door had jammed when heat warped the metal frame.
Olivia was on the other side.
I used a broken chair leg to strike the latch until the door opened far enough for her to squeeze through.
A section of burning decoration fell as we reached the stairs.
I turned my body over hers.
That was how the left side of my face and neck were burned.
The firefighters found us near the loading entrance.
Olivia had smoke inhalation and a fractured wrist.
I spent eleven days in intensive care.
Margaret visited once while I was unconscious.
Later, she told relatives she had been too traumatized to return.
What she actually did was give investigators a statement claiming I had entered the warehouse in a rage and set fire to company records.
Because I was sedated, bandaged, and unable to speak for several days, her version became the first version people heard.
By the time I could answer questions, the physical evidence had been damaged by water and hurriedly placed in storage.
Margaret’s insurer settled the property claim.
The forged loans remained attached to my credit history.
Relatives advised me to stop creating conflict after everything Margaret had supposedly done for me.
Olivia never publicly corrected her mother’s story.
At the wedding, Ethan restarted the emergency call.
The dispatcher asked Olivia whether she could reach a window.
“No,” Olivia cried on the recording.
“Please call Audrey.
She said she was coming.
She’ll come inside for me.
She always comes when I call.”
Ethan stopped the recording again.
Olivia covered her mouth.
I looked at her across the room.
“You knew,” I said.
She nodded once.
Margaret moved toward her.
“Do not answer her.”
Olivia flinched, and in that small movement I recognized the same fear that had controlled me for years.
“I knew Audrey saved me,” she whispered.
“Mom said if I told anyone about the documents, the insurance company would charge us both.
She said I would go to prison because I had helped with the business accounts.”
“You did help,” Margaret snapped.
Olivia stared at her.
“I was twenty.
You told me I was entering vendor payments.
I didn’t know those accounts were in Audrey’s name.”
Margaret’s composure cracked.
“After everything I have done for both of you, this is how you repay me?”
Ethan closed the folder halfway.
“There it is,” he said quietly.
Margaret looked at him.
“What?”
“The same argument every time.
You harm someone, then demand gratitude for surviving you.”
His voice was not loud, but it reached every corner of the ballroom.
Margaret turned toward the guests, searching for support.
“Surely none of you believe this performance.
Audrey has manipulated him.
