My Sister Stole My Husband, My Son, and My Medal Chapter 08

My Sister Stole My Husband, My Son, and My Medal Chapter 08

Footage of Romilly inside the trafficking organization filled the screen.

The first video was grainy, shot from a hidden camera clipped to her collar.

The cell was small. Water rose past her knees. Her hands, cuffed to a pipe above her head, were raw and bleeding from trying to twist free.

The camera swayed as she lifted her head.

“If you find my body, you’ll find the evidence I hid on me.”

Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“Don’t grieve for me. If this evidence puts those criminals behind bars, then my death will have meant

something.”

In the next video, she was dragged out of the cell. Her shirt was torn. Bites covered her arms, red, swollen,

some already infected.

She stumbled, and the camera caught the floor before someone yanked her upright by the hair.

She didn’t scream. She just kept recording.

In another video, Romilly was in an illegal backroom clinic, trying to photograph a transaction.

A man grabbed her from behind. The camera spun wildly. Then the ground fell away.

She was thrown from the third floor.

The video hit concrete and went black.

When the feed flickered back, she was dragging herself toward a bush, her left arm bent at an angle it

shouldn’t have been. Her teeth were clenched. Blood ran from her forehead into her eye.

She didn’t wipe it away.

“If I survive this, I’ll deliver the evidence to the department myself.”

She coughed. Blood spotted the lens.

“If I don’t… use what I collected. Put them away.”

There were more recordings.

A man with a branding iron pressing into her ankle, her face twisting, but she didn’t scream.

A room full of criminals, her voice steady, lying about who she was, negotiating for a buy.

A knife. A flash of metal. Her hand pressed against her stomach, packing torn strips of her own shirt into the

wound, breathing hard through the pain.

Each video was shorter than the last. Each one showed a woman who refused to stop recording.

When the final video ended, silence filled the room.

A woman wiped her eyes. Then Cressida’s shriek shattered the silence.

“You’re twisting everything because she’s dead! That case was submitted under my name. That medal is

mine!”

She lunged for the medal in Blythe’s hand.

But several of Romilly’s former colleagues moved first. They grabbed her arms, held her back, their faces

grim.

Cressida thrashed against them, her heels scuffing the marble floor.

“Let go of me. I’m the one who deserves it. I’m the one who-”

She stopped.

The room was watching her. But not the way she had always wanted to be watched.

There was no admiration in their eyes. No envy. No respect.

Only horror. Only disgust.

Chief Dane put the medal away, his expression cold.

“The evidence is conclusive. I’ll notify the state honors board and recommend that every commendation

awarded to Cressida Calder be revoked.”

He looked at her, and there was no pity in his voice.

“This matter will also be referred for criminal prosecution.”

Her legs gave out. She hit the floor on her knees, mouth open, no sound.

Later, after the room had cleared, Stellan stood alone at the podium.

The screen was dark now. The flash drive still sat in the computer slot.

He touched it once, lightly, with his thumb.

He hadn’t known all of it.

But he had helped Cressida. He had stolen Romilly’s evidence, known she was being hurt, and kept telling

himself the injuries weren’t serious.

After that, he had no excuses left.

He pulled the drive out slowly and slipped it into his pocket.

There was nothing left to say.

Across the city, I sat by the window of a rented room.

A news alert appeared on my phone.

[Cressida Calder arrested on charges of evidence theft, obstruction of justice, and filing false reports.]

[Romilly Calder awarded State Medal of Valor, formally honored as a fallen officer.]

My grip tightened around the phone.

The medal was mine now. The truth was out. Cressida was in custody.

Sooner or later, they’d figure out I wasn’t dead.

It didn’t matter.

The lie had already done its job.

It didn’t matter. I had achieved what I needed to achieve. There was no reason to remain in hiding.

I set the phone down and looked at my reflection in the dark window.

Three years of chasing ghosts, and I had finally caught the right one.

I stood up, put on my coat, and walked out the door.

The next morning, I returned to the Glenmarrow Police Department and turned myself in to Chief Dane and

the command staff.

“Three years ago, Stellan and my sister staged their deaths so they could be together without facing public disgrace. I took a page from their playbook and gave them a taste of their own medicine.”

“I was out of options. If I hadn’t staged my death, my family never would’ve exposed the truth. I know I crossed a line. But I need you to understand why.”