Chapter 4 - THE GHOST OF LAKE GENEVA
The dawn light filtered through the hospital blinds, casting long, pale stripes across the sterile floor. I hadn't slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I was back in the passenger seat of Brooke’s Mercedes, the windshield wipers slapping frantically against the glass, the blinding sheets of rain turning the winding country roads of Lake Geneva into a slick, black death trap.
The door opened quietly, and Liam walked in carrying a tray of hospital breakfast that neither of us touched, along with a thick manila folder.
“The police executed the arrest warrant at the family estate an hour ago,” Liam said, sitting down and opening the folder. “Brooke is currently in holding at the 19th District. Helen tried to block it with high-priced defense lawyers, but the judge took one look at the rooftop footage and denied bail.”
A cold shiver ran down my spine. “And the media?”
“Spinning out of control,” Liam admitted grimly. “The headlines are a bloodbath: ‘High-Society Bride Arrested for Attempted Murder of Paralyzed Sister’. The Vance-Sinclair engagement is the top trending story in the country.” He paused, looking up at me with searching eyes. “Claire... it’s time to talk about Lake Geneva. The crash. The police are asking why your medical records from that night show inconsistencies.”
My throat tightened. I pulled my knees up under the hospital sheet, staring at the white fabric. “What inconsistencies?”
“The initial police report stated you were driving,” Liam said gently, sliding a sheet of paper across the tray table. It was the original accident report from six months ago. “Driver: Claire Sinclair. Passenger: Brooke Sinclair. Speed: Seventy miles per hour in a heavy downpour on a hairpin turn. Loss of control due to driver negligence.”
“That's what we told them,” I whispered, tears blurring my vision.
“Except,” Liam continued, his voice dropping to a low, intense register, “the paramedics who arrived at the scene first gave a confidential deposition to my private investigator last night. They didn't pull you out of the driver's seat, Claire. They pulled you out of the backseat. And Brooke was standing outside the car on the passenger side, completely dry, holding your phone.”
The memories rushed back with the force of a tidal wave—the blinding headlights, the screech of tires, Brooke’s hysterical voice screaming 'Do it, do it!', and then the terrifying impact as the car careened off the road into a ravine.
“I wasn't driving,” I choked out, a sob finally breaking free. “I was in the backseat trying to stop her from texting her lover while driving at seventy miles an hour in a torrential storm. When she lost control and we crashed, I took the blame.”
Liam’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. “Why? Why would you protect her after she practically killed you?”
“Because Mother begged me!” I cried, the burden of six months of silence crushing down on my chest. “Mother said if Brooke had a reckless driving felony on her record, her entire life—her social standing, her upcoming engagement to you, her entire future—would be ruined! She promised me that if I took the fall, they would pay for my medical care, they would take care of me, they would love me...”
I buried my face in my hands, my shoulders shaking. “I gave up my legs to save her reputation. And last night, on that rooftop, she tried to finish the job because she couldn't stand sharing the spotlight with her crippled sister.”
For a long moment, there was absolute silence in the room.
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Then, I felt the mattress dip. Strong, steady arms wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me against Liam’s broad, warm chest. He buried his face in my hair, holding me tighter than I had ever been held in my entire life.
“You're safe now, Claire,” Liam whispered fiercely against my ear. “I swear to you on everything I hold sacred... Brooke is going to pay for what she did. Both times.”
