My Family Heard My Murderous Thoughts, So the Fake Heiress Called 911 Chapter 10

My Family Heard My Murderous Thoughts, So the Fake Heiress Called 911 Chapter 10

When Catherine saw my backpack, she started crying even harder. She tried to speak but couldn’t.

Gregory held her hand. He opened his mouth, then stopped.

“You…”

He wanted to say “Take care.” He wanted to say “I’m sorry.” He wanted to say “We’ll be here when you

come back.”

But he couldn’t.

He knew I didn’t need any of those words.

What I needed was a normal family, and they couldn’t give me that! At least not tonight.

Nolan put his phone away.

“The car’s here.”

Then he looked at me, something complicated in his eyes.

“We’re going to cut ties with Hailey. When you get leave again, you can come home.”

I nodded and walked toward the door.

As I passed Hailey, she looked up at me. Her makeup was smeared across her face, and her eyes were swollen

to slits from crying.

She stared at me, her lips moving.

“Hailey.” I looked down at her. “You made a lot of choices tonight, and every one of them took you down the

wrong path.”

“Where you are right now wasn’t taken from you by anyone else. You got here one step at a time, all by

yourself.”

Hailey didn’t say anything. She lowered her eyes to the floor.

I opened the front door.

A black town car was waiting outside.

The driver saw me and nodded once.

I looked back.

Gregory stood in the middle of the living room, his eyes red.

Catherine leaned against him, gripping his sleeve tightly.

Nolan stoud with his hands at his sides. He didn’t say anything, but he was watching me.

I gave them a slight nod

“I’m leaving.”

Then I turned and got into the car.

As the door closed, I heard a muffled sound from inside the estate.

I couldn’t tell whether it was crying or something else.

I didn’t look back.

The car pulled away, and my phone lit up again.

My unit chief had sent me a message.

[Sketch, the new case file is in your secure inbox. It’s a serial murder case with an unusual MO.]

I opened the case file and started looking through the crime-scene photos.

My brain automatically shifted into behavioral profiling.

The killer was male, somewhere between twenty-five and thirty-five, with a criminal record, possibly with

a history of burglary.

He followed his victims and used his own vehicle to commit the crimes.

As I went through the photos, I found myself thinking about how I’d do it if I wanted to kill someone.

But those murderous thoughts weren’t mine.

They belonged to the killer.

It didn’t matter. Maybe I’d go back to normal after the next case.

Maybe I wouldn’t.

After doing this job long enough, sometimes it was hard to tell which thoughts were mine and which were

theirs.

But at least one thing was clear.

I was Sketch.

Not a murderer.

Not anyone’s daughter

Outside the window, the city lights slipped past one by ofie.

I put my phone back in my pocket and closed my eyes.

The next case was already waiting for me.

As for family, it didn’t matter to me whether I had it or not.