Chapter 8: Victoria's Version
I called Victoria that afternoon.
She answered on the second ring, which told me she had been expecting it.
"Isabella." Her voice was composed.
Whatever had happened in the ballroom, she had already filed it away and moved past it.
"I think it would be best if we met in person.
There are things that need to be discussed calmly, and—"
"I have the file," I said.
A pause.
Very brief.
"I don't know what you mean."
"The St.
Catherine's file.
The correspondence with your legal firm.
The memo about Anna's placement.
The written directive you gave Alexander three months ago." I let that settle.
"Mrs.
Calloway kept copies."
The silence this time was longer.
"Eleanor," Victoria said finally.
Not a question.
A verdict.
"She's had them for years," I said.
"She was waiting for the right moment."
"That woman had no right to remove documents from—"
"From where?
Your home?
Your private files?" My voice stayed level.
"Documents about my sister.
About my adoption history.
About a file that belongs to me."
"Those documents were obtained legally, through proper channels, for the protection of this family."
"You used them to keep my sister working in your hotel," I said.
"You used them to keep us apart.
You told Anna I didn't want contact.
You told Alexander to tell her I had moved abroad and was happy and didn't want to be found." I heard my own voice tighten and made it smooth again.
"And then you threw ice water on her in front of four hundred people."
"That was an accident—"
"The water was an accident.
Everything else was a choice."
She was quiet.
"I want the original file," I said.
"The complete file, including anything your firm retained.
I want it transferred to my legal representative within forty-eight hours."
"And if I decline?"
"Then Mrs.
Calloway's copies go to the journalist who has been covering the Whitmore family's hotel labor practices for the last six months." I paused.
"I didn't go looking for her.
She contacted me eight months ago.
I told her I had nothing to say.
That's changed."
The silence stretched long enough that I could hear Victoria breathing.
"You would do that," she said.
"You would damage Alexander's name.
His future.
Everything he's built."
"Alexander made his choices," I said.
"He made them every morning for three months while he looked at me across the breakfast table."
"He loves you."
"He loved the version of me that had no family.
No history.
No one who could complicate things." I looked at Anna across the table.
Anna was watching me with her hands folded and her eyes steady.
"That version doesn't exist."
"Isabella." Victoria's voice shifted.
The composure cracked, just slightly, just enough to hear something underneath it — not remorse, but something close to fear.
"If this becomes public, it will not only damage Alexander.
It will damage you.
The press will make you a story.
They will dig into your background, your adoption, your—"
"My background is an orphanage and a sister who carried a photograph for fifteen years," I said.
"I'm not afraid of my background."
She had nothing left for that.
"Forty-eight hours," I said.
"The original file.
Complete."
I ended the call.
Anna exhaled slowly across the table.
"She'll fight back," she said.
"She won't just hand it over."
"I know."
"What do we do if she does?"
I looked at the manila envelope from Mrs.
Calloway, still open on the table.
"We already have what we need," I said.
"The file she sends will tell us whether she's destroyed anything.
And if she has, that's its own kind of answer."
Anna was quiet for a moment.
Then: "You were very calm."
"I've been practicing," I said, "for about fifteen years."
She laughed.
It was the first time I had heard her laugh.
It sounded like something I had been trying to remember for a very long time, and now that I heard it, I realized I had never actually forgotten it.
Then her phone buzzed on the table.
She looked at the screen.
Her expression changed.
"It's a number I don't recognize," she said.
"But the area code is the Grand Regent."
She turned the phone so I could see it.
Below the number, a text message read: *There is more in the file than Victoria knows you have.
May you like
Meet me before she does.
— R*
