Wrong Mrs. Vale

Alora's Pov

"Chris!" I hiss as my body stiffens under the sharp, blinding spike of agony shooting up my heel.

Hopping on one foot and clutching my toes, I glare down at the culprit. It's the jagged, green plastic dinosaur. Of course, it had to be the one toy designed like a medieval weapon.

“Fantastic,” I mutter, teeth clenched. “Nothing says career fulfilment like being taken out by a seven-year-old’s weaponized Lego collection.”

"Chrisssssss!" I try again, louder this time, my voice tightening as I pry the toy off my foot.

A tiny, breathless giggle echos from the balcony, immediately followed by the quick scuffle of sneakers running away. Mischievous and unapologetic, of course.

I exhale sharply and bend to pick up the toy when I spot two more scattered across the kitchen tiles like landmines.

I limp slightly as I gather them. "Who needs a pension plan when you can just die of septic shock from a stubborn toddler?"

The television hums softly in the living room, its glow spilling into the hallway. I lower myself onto the Persian rug with a sigh, my foot still throbbing and reaching for one of the scattered blocks.

Four-year- old Leo sits cross-legged beside me, his small tongue poking out in fierce concentration as he stacks wooden alphabet blocks into a wobbly tower. His curls bounce slightly every time he leans forward, determination written all over his tiny face.

“Easy there, architect,” I murmur, sliding a hand in to steady the base before his masterpiece collapses for the tenth time. “We’re building a tower here, not proving gravity still works.”

I hold up a block. “Now baby, where does B go?”

Before he can reach for it, the bright cartoon colours on the screen abruptly vanishes and a sharp, piercing, three-tone emergency fills the room, making Leo flinch.

The television glitches as the words BREAKING NEWS spread across the screen.

“Breaking news,” the man's voice booms. “The New York city's gala has been brought to an end by the sudden death of Raymond Vale, the host of this year's gala and CEO of Vale Enterprises who collapsed minutes ago and now declared dead."

The massive television screen suddenly goes black again, filling the living room with a harsh, scratching hiss of white noise.

That name "Vale" sends a chill down my spine. I loath it, everything and anyone tied to it. If anything in this expensive house carries the name Vale, I’d probably want to smash it to pieces. That’s how much I hate that name.

But as the static buzzes, a heavy feeling settles in my stomach.

Because no matter how I feel… losing a father, even a cruel one, is not something I'd wish on anyone.

This is bad, really bad.

The television snaps back to life with a different reporter. She's standing under the flashing blue lights of police cars, breath fogging in the cold night air.

"The police have made an arrest. The suspect, identified as sixteen-year-old George Blackwood, who is part of the catering staff who personally served Raymond Vale…”

My hands freeze.

The block slips from my fingers and hits the floor with a sharp clack.

A blurred mugshot appears on screen and my breath hitches.

My little brother, George.

He looks small and terrified. His curly hair; the same hair I fixed for him just this evening for this huge gig, is now a messy halo around his head. His eyes are wide and unblinking under the harsh lights.

NO!

My chest tightens, cold numbness spreading through my arms. George can’t even manage a kitchen timer without burning the bread, and they... they think he pulled off something like this?

“Aunty Alora? Your turn,” Leo murmurs, tugging at my sleeve.

Something inside me snaps, and the suffocating pressure inside my chest erupts. A loud, agonizing cry violently rips from my throat before I can even think to choke it back.

"Aunty, are you okay?" Leo asks, his small hands gripping me tighter and his eyes already filling with tears.

My thoughts spin out of control, but years of hard life have taught me to survive moments like this. I force myself to breathe. Slow and steady while burying the terror and swallowing the lump in my throat, I push myself to my feet.

“Leo, darling, stay right here and keep building, okay? I just need to talk to daddy for a minute."

I turn and walk down the long, quiet hallway toward Mr. Vance's study who is hunched over his laptop. I knock twice, firmly.

He looks up, surprised at first, and then his face softens.

"Heyyy... didn't hear you come in. Everything okay?"

“Yes sir,” I stutter, trying to steady my voice. “I've been in for a while now. But... I need to ask a favour."

He closes his laptop and stands. "Common! You know you can ask me for anything."

I hesitate. "This is different, sir. I have an urgent family emergency. I need to leave for a few hours. Leo is settled, and dinner is ready. I will make up the time tomorrow, please.”

He adjusts his glasses, barely thinking about it, then waves a hand. “Fine, Alora. Just lock the front door on your way out.”

I don't wait for another word, in case he changes his mind. "Thank you so much, sir."

I turn immediately, grabbing my coat, keys, and bag on my way out.

*****

The visitation room at the precinct reeks of stale coffee, and hopelessness.

I sit on the hard metal chair, my fingers digging into my palms just to keep them from shaking. The iron door creaks open, and George is led in.

My heart breaks.

He’s in a baggy orange jumpsuit, wrists, and ankles chained.

"Oh, great," I think bitterly. "Because nothing says “harmless idiot” like dressing him up as a full criminal."

He looks like he wandered into the wrong movie set.

They sit him down, and the thick glass between us feels suffocating.

“Alora,” he chokes, pressing his forehead against the glass. “I didn’t do it. I swear to God...”

“Shhhhhh.” I lift a finger to my lips, even as a tear slips down my cheek. “Heyyyy... look at me,” I say softly, my voice firm despite the storm inside me. That same protective tone I’ve used since we were kids.

I press my hand to the glass.

He mirrors me.

“I know you didn’t do it,” I whisper. “Anyone who knows you knows you couldn’t even plan a grocery list, let alone... this.”

A shaky breath leaves me.

“I spoiled you too much, Georgie.”

A brittle, defensive laugh slips out of me. “Look at the bright side, though orange actually looks good on you. Very seasonal.”

He doesn't laugh. A tear roll down his cheek.

“The public defender they gave me…" his voice shakes. "Sis, he looks like he just graduated yesterday, wouldn’t even look me in the eye. He said the Vale family’s legal team is pushing for a fast trial, and they want the maximum sentence.” His breath stutters. “They want me dead even before the trial."

The humour dies instantly.

“Nobody is going to touch you,” I say quietly. My voice is calm, but there’s something hard underneath it now. “Do you hear me? Nobody.”

I lean closer.

“I’m going to find Leyla. We’ll get a real lawyer, and we are going to get you out of here."

I press my hand harder against the glass. “But you need to hold on. Don’t say anything to anyone. Not the police, not your lawyer. No one, until we’re there. Promise me.”

He nods miserably. The guard steps forward, grabbing his shoulder.

“No!” George panics.

“It’s okay. I've got you, baby. I’ve got you.”

I watch him go, my mind already spinning fast. Then, I move to the front desk immediately.

“Where are they taking him?” I demand. “There’s no real evidence, no charges, just assumptions, and you’re already treating him like he’s guilty?”

The female officer barely looks up. “Relax,” she says flatly. “Bail’s already been posted.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

She glances at me, bored. “Bail's set.”

“And you’re just telling me now?”

Her eyes narrow. “Watch your tone, ma’am. This is not the place.” A pause, then almost lazily, “Bail’s set at two million.”

For a second, I just stare then I burst into laughter. “You’re joking, right?” I shake my head. “Who sets bail that high?”

“Lucien Vale.”

Ah! That bastard. I should've known. I turn away before I say something that’ll get me arrested too.

Leyla.

I need to find Leyla.