Chapter 2 - The Police Knock on the Door
Three days later, I was sitting on the sofa in my quiet apartment in Jersey City, nursing a cup of chamomile tea while watching the afternoon rain streak down the windowpane.
The physical wound on my scalp was healing, but the psychological weight of what had happened was suffocating.
My phone had been buzzing intermittently for seventy-two hours. My mother, Helen, had called fourteen times, leaving increasingly frantic voicemails demanding to know why I had "abandoned your sister during her honeymoon week." My cousin Daniel had sent supportive text messages, warning me that Sofia had been bragging on her private Instagram story about how "dramatic" I was for going to the hospital over a "little scratch."
Then, at precisely 2:15 PM, my phone rang with an unknown number.
I swiped to answer.
"Elena Vance?" a deep, authoritative voice asked.
"Yes?"
"This is Detective Thomas Vance—no relation—with the Princeton Police Department. I’m calling in regard to the physical assault report filed by Dr. Marcus Chen on Saturday night."
My chest tightened. "Has something happened?"
"We executed a search warrant thirty minutes ago at your sister Sofia's marital estate in Saddle River," Detective Vance said, his tone grim. "We’re currently speaking with her and her new husband, Gregory. But before we proceed with formal charges, we need you to come down to the precinct to identify the object and provide a sworn statement."
"Charges?" I echoed, my voice trembling slightly. "For what?"
"Assault in the second degree with a deadly weapon," Detective Vance stated plainly. "And based on the preliminary forensic report of the tiara’s manufacturing source, we are also investigating premeditation."
Premeditation.
The word hung in the air like a thunderclap.
Sofia hadn't just acted on a cruel impulse during the cake cutting. If the police were investigating premeditation, it meant they had found evidence suggesting the spiked tiara had been prepared long before the wedding day.
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"I'll be there in an hour," I said.
By the time my cousin Daniel texted me a frantic voice note—“Elena, what is going on?! Two cop cars just pulled up to Sofia’s house and they won't let anyone leave!”—I was already sliding my car keys into my purse, ready to face the music my sister had so carefully composed.
