My ribs hurt when I breathed, but I forced the words out evenly.
“You told the nurse I slipped.”
“You did slip.”
“You whispered that I had to support your story.”
Her eyes flicked toward the hospital counsel.
“She’s medicated.
She doesn’t know what she heard.”
The spine specialist’s report rested on the table beneath the tablet.
The words assault-related vertebrae fracture were visible on the top page.
The counsel placed one hand over the report.
“Her toxicology results show that the statement was taken before any sedating medication was administered.”
Victoria’s face tightened.
“Why is hospital administration involved in a family accident?”
The counsel’s expression did not change.
“Because the patient you brought into our emergency department is this hospital’s chief executive officer.
Any traumatic admission involving a senior officer triggers an independent preservation protocol.”
Victoria turned toward me as though my job had somehow become another betrayal.
“You never told me that would happen.”
“I didn’t know you planned to push me down a staircase.”
Mr.
Patterson lowered his eyes.
The security officer explained that the building’s monitoring service had called emergency dispatch after seeing the fall.
The property manager preserved both camera angles before anyone could overwrite or alter the recordings.
Patterson had identified us and provided the first witness statement.
Victoria spun toward him.
“You didn’t see what happened.”
“I heard what happened,” he said.
His voice remained calm, but the careful neutrality he had maintained in his office was gone.
“I heard you shout that your father’s money was for your wedding.
I heard the impact.
When I entered the stairwell, your sister was unconscious on the landing and you were holding torn pages from the estate documents.”
“I was picking them up.”
“You placed them in your purse.”
“I panicked.”
“Yes,” Patterson said.
“You did.”
The sealed gray folder in his hands contained the office copy of the will, my signed acknowledgment and the handwritten note Dad had left about Victoria’s wedding expenses.
Patterson had brought it so the original estate documents could be formally secured before Victoria attempted to claim that I had stolen or altered them.
The hospital counsel opened the door.
Two police officers waited outside.
Victoria backed against the wall.
“You called the police on me?”
“I did,” Patterson said.
She looked at me again, and for one brief second the anger vanished.
What replaced it was not remorse.
It was calculation.
“We can fix this,” she said.
“We’re sisters.”
The words landed harder than her hands had.
She approached the bed, but the security officer stepped between us.
Victoria lowered her voice.
“You know I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”
“You pushed me down fifteen stairs.”
“I was upset.”
“You waited for me.”
“You were taking everything.”
