Chapter 6
Two months before trial, Hannah struck again.
I was making coffee in the motel room at 7 a.m. when there was a loud, sharp knock on the door.
Two police officers stood on the other side.
“Olivia Carter?” one of them said.
I nodded, my heart dropping to my stomach.
“We have a report of an assault filed against you,” he said. “By your sister, Hannah Carter. She claims you attacked her at the family home two weeks ago, when you went to retrieve your belongings. Says you pushed her down the stairs, threatened to kill her, and stole family heirlooms.”
I stared at him, disbelieving.
“That’s a lie,” I said. “She blocked the door. She screamed at me. She never even came near the stairs. I have photos. I have text messages. My grandma was there. She’ll tell you.”
The officers exchanged a look.
“We just need to take your statement,” the other one said. “Come down to the station with us, and we’ll sort this out.”
I called Mia. I called Mr. Bennett.
Two hours later, we sat in an interrogation room.
I showed the officers the photos I’d taken that day—Hannah blocking the front door, her face twisted with rage, no stairs anywhere in sight.
I showed them the text messages Hannah had sent me in the days after: You’ll regret this. You’ll end up with nothing. You’re dead to me.
I gave them Grandma’s contact information.
Mr. Bennett sat beside me, calm as ever.
“This is a blatant attempt to intimidate my client and damage her credibility ahead of trial,” he said to the officers. “We will be filing a countersuit for defamation and malicious prosecution, and we will be asking the judge in the estate case to consider this as further evidence of harassment under the will’s forfeiture clause.”
The officers nodded.
By the end of the day, no charges were filed.
But the damage was done.
Hannah had already gone to the press.
OLIVIA CARTER ARRESTED FOR ASSAULTING SISTER, the headlines screamed.
The trolls came out in full force.
Told you she was violent.
She belongs in jail, not in a courtroom.
No wonder her mom slapped her.
I cried that night.
Not because of the lies. But because I couldn’t believe my own sister would go this far. Would make up something so awful, just to hurt me.
Mia held me while I cried.
“She’s scared,” she said, wiping my tears. “She knows she’s going to lose. This is what desperate people do.”
Grandma showed up at the motel the next morning with a pot of her famous chicken noodle soup and a stack of old photo albums.
She sat on the bed, flipped through the pages, and pointed.
“Look at this,” she said. “You were five. Hannah was seven. You two built that fort in the backyard out of old blankets. You stayed out there all night, even when it started to rain. Your dad had to carry you both in, soaking wet, and your mom yelled for an hour.”
She smiled, a little sad.
“You used to be so close,” she said. “I don’t know what happened. When your dad got sick, something in your mom just… snapped. She decided Hannah was the only one who mattered. And Hannah let her. She liked being the favorite.”
She closed the album, looked at me.
“But you know what?” she said. “Being the favorite isn’t always a gift. It made Hannah weak. It made her think she deserved everything without working for it. But you? You worked for everything you have. You’re strong. Stronger than both of them put together.”
She squeezed my hand.
“Don’t let her make you feel small,” she said. “You’re Robert Carter’s daughter. You don’t give up.”
I wiped my face, nodded.
She was right.
Hannah could lie all she wanted.
May you like
But the truth was coming.
And nothing she did could stop it.
