Chapter 3 - The Donor’s Wrath
By noon that same day, news of the incident had leaked out of the local police precinct.
Because Sarah had uploaded the video to Snapchat—where dozens of her classmates had saved and re-shared it—the video went viral across our high school within hours. By lunchtime, it had breached the local news circuits.
The headline on the local station’s web page read: "High School Prom Sabotage Leads to Arrest: Aunt Shaves Niece’s Head to Stop Her From 'Outshining' Cousin, Destroys $30k Cancer Charity Donation."
I was sitting in the immaculate, wood-paneled office of Arthur Vance downtown.
The room smelled of old books, expensive leather, and coffee. Sitting across from me was Arthur Vance himself—a tall, imposing man in his sixties with piercing blue eyes and a snow-white beard. He looked like a man who hadn't smiled since 1995.
Beside me sat Evelyn Reed and Attorney Sterling.
Arthur looked at the high-resolution police photographs of my scalp laid out on his desk. His hand, heavy with a gold signet ring, gripped the edge of his mahogany desk so tightly his knuckles turned white.
"Thirty years I’ve practiced law in this city," Arthur said, his voice a deep, reverberating rumble that made the glass windows hum. "I have dealt with corporate raiders, corrupt politicians, and cartel money launderers. But the petty, poisonous cruelty of insecure middle-aged women never fails to disgust me."
He looked up at me. His eyes softened slightly.
"Emily," he said gently. "How are you feeling, my dear?"
I looked down at my bandaged hands. "I... I feel sick, Mr. Vance. I’m so sorry about the auction. The wig for the little girl... I failed her."
"You failed no one," Arthur snapped firmly, tapping his desk. "You were victimized by parasites. The little girl in question—my granddaughter’s memory—will receive her wig. I have already arranged for a high-end custom hairpiece to be sourced from an international donor in London at my own personal expense."
I let out a shaky breath of relief. "Thank you... thank you so much."
"Now," Arthur said, leaning forward, his posture shifting into that of a predator catching a scent. "Let us discuss your aunt and cousin."
Attorney Sterling pulled out a ledger. "Mr. Vance, local authorities have charged Mrs. Miller with felony assault and grand larceny. However, her husband’s legal defense team is already attempting to negotiate a misdemeanor plea deal, claiming 'emotional distress and domestic misunderstanding.'"
Arthur let out a dry, dangerous laugh. "A plea deal? Over my dead body."
He looked at me. "Emily, your mother left you a half-share in that suburban house when she passed, correct?"
"Yes," I nodded. "My mother and Aunt Vanessa inherited the house equally from my grandparents. When my mother died, her 50% ownership stake was placed into a protective trust for me until I turn eighteen."
Arthur smiled—a cold, terrifying expression.
"Which means your aunt owns the other 50%," Arthur stated. "And because she committed a felony assault against a co-owner’s beneficiary on the premises, while using your rent payments to cover the property taxes, she has violated the terms of the estate trust."
He turned to Sterling. "Richard, file a civil suit immediately. Sue Vanessa Miller personally for $100,000 in punitive damages for emotional trauma, intentional infliction of distress, and breach of charitable trust. Place a emergency lien on her 50% share of that house today."
Evelyn Reed blinked. "Arthur... if you place a lien on her share of the house, she won't be able to leverage it for bail money."
"That," Arthur replied, picking up his fountain pen, "is precisely the point. Let her sit in a county cell while her daughter prepares for prom."
He looked back at me, his eyes sharp. "Emily, what about your high school prom? It’s this Friday, isn't it?"
I swallowed hard, looking down at my shoes. "I’m not going, Mr. Vance. Look at me. Everyone at school has seen the video. Sarah and her friends are already calling me a freak online. I don't have a dress anymore anyway—Aunt Vanessa locked my closet before she was arrested."
May you like
Arthur set his pen down with a quiet click.
"You are going to that prom, Emily," Arthur said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And you are going to walk into that ballroom like royalty. Leave your cousin, your dress, and your hair to me."
