Chapter 6: The Perfect Lie
2781words
It seems my guess was right. Her reply revealed a sense of tension and urgency, indicating that she indeed had secrets she didn't want others to discover.
I was carefully adjusting my appearance in front of the mirror. Today's outfit had to be perfect: looking like a harmless young girl, yet mature enough for people to take my words seriously. I chose a simple set of knitwear and skirt, paired with low-heeled shoes, and light, natural makeup. Most importantly, I made sure to appear somewhat tired and worried, just as an innocent girl who had been wrongly accused should look.
During breakfast, Victoria noticed my state.
"You look nervous, Emma," she observed while drinking her coffee. "Is it because of what happened yesterday?"
"A little bit," I admitted honestly. "I've been thinking about who would... would want to hurt me. I really can't understand it."
"Richard will handle it," her voice was firm. "Don't let this affect your daily life. Do you have any plans for today?"
"I want to go back to the orphanage," I said, "I want to see those children, and also... I want to sit in Michael's office for a while. I think that might make me feel better."
Victoria's expression softened a bit. "That's a good idea. But remember what Richard said, don't try to investigate anything on your own."
"I won't," I nodded obediently, "I just miss that place."
Of course, I didn't tell her my real purpose.
At half past two in the afternoon, I showed up punctually at the entrance of the small cafe. It was a very ordinary place, located in a small alley behind St. Anthony's Children's Home, mainly serving the nearby staff and occasional visiting parents. I deliberately arrived early and chose a corner seat that allowed me to observe the entire cafe.
Susanna arrived at five past three, five minutes later than our agreed time. She looked more tired than I remembered, with slightly disheveled hair, dark circles under her eyes, and clothes that were neat but obviously cheap. More importantly, I could sense her nervousness and unease.
"Emma." She sat down across from me, her voice somewhat stiff, "You said you have information about Mark?"
Mark, her son. My investigation told me he was twenty-six years old, had a serious heroin addiction, had been in and out of rehab centers multiple times, and was currently facing drug trafficking charges.
"Yes, Mrs. West." My voice was gentle, with an appropriate level of concern, "I heard that Mark has recently encountered some... difficulties?"
Her face instantly turned pale. "How do you know about Mark?"
"In a place like New York, news travels fast," I said softly, "especially when you know some... influential people."
Her gaze became vigilant. "What do you mean?"
I took out a folder from my bag and slowly opened it. Inside were all the court records, arrest records, and news reports about Mark West that I had printed out. When she saw these documents, I noticed her hands beginning to tremble.
"Mrs. West, I think we can help each other." My voice remained gentle, but with a new firmness, "I know you're in desperate need of money right now, and I... I need some clarification."
"What clarification?" her voice was almost a whisper.
"About the night of Michael's death." I looked directly into her eyes, "About those... discrepancies you reported to the police."
Susanna's face grew even paler. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Mrs. West," I shook my head gently, "we're both intelligent people. I know you were the one who reported to the police, just as you know that I'm aware Mark's court date is next week. The question is, are we going to be enemies, or are we going to be friends?"
She remained silent for a long time, then asked, "What do you want?"
"I want the truth," I replied, "the real truth. What did you find in Michael's office that made you suspect something about his death?"
Susanna glanced around, making sure no one was listening to our conversation, then lowered her voice and said, "I found some documents. About you."
"What kind of documents?"
"Michael made some... notes in your file. He wrote that he discovered some inconsistencies in your past, about that fire. He planned to reinvestigate the matter, and... and he was preparing to revoke your trust fund."
This was consistent with what I expected. "And then?"
"And then he died." Her voice carried a slight tremor, "The timing is too coincidental, Emma. Right when he was about to take action."
"So you think I killed him?" My voice sounded hurt, "Mrs. West, I'm just an eighteen-year-old girl. Mr. Michael was like a father to me. How could I possibly... how could I possibly harm him?"
"I don't know," she admitted, "But these suspicious points... I think the police should know."
"Even if it might ruin an innocent girl's life?" I let tears gather in my eyes, "Mrs. West, I have never hurt anyone. I just... I just want a normal life."
I saw her expression become complicated. Sympathy and suspicion alternated on her face.
"But what if I'm wrong?" I continued, "If Mr. Michael really just had a heart attack, and I lose everything because of your suspicion, is that fair?"
"I..." she hesitated.
"Mrs. West," I leaned forward, my voice becoming more earnest, "I know you're going through a difficult time. Mark's legal fees, plus the rehabilitation costs. But destroying me won't make your life any better."
Her gaze became more complex. "What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to tell the police the truth," I said, "Tell them that you re-examined the evidence and found your suspicions were unfounded. Tell them that Michael's death was indeed an accident, with nothing suspicious about it."
"But those documents..."
"Those documents only show that Mr. Michael was under stress due to the economic crisis and the orphanage's financial problems," my voice was calm, "He might indeed have been reconsidering the trust fund arrangements, but that doesn't mean there was any criminal activity."
Susanna remained silent for a long time. I could see her struggling internally.
"If you do this," I said softly, "I can ensure Mark gets the best legal representation. I know some very influential people who can help Mark. Perhaps they can help him avoid imprisonment and receive treatment instead."
Her eyes suddenly lit up. "You can do that?"
"I'm staying with the Branford family now." I reminded her, "Mr. Richard Branford has many resources and connections. If you help clarify this misunderstanding, I believe he would be willing to help a mother in need."
It wasn't exactly a lie, but it wasn't the truth either. I knew Richard might help, but only if I could give him a reasonable explanation. And right now, I was creating that explanation.
"I need time to think about it," Susanna said.
"Of course." I nodded, "But Mrs. West, time is precious. Mark's trial is next week, and the police investigation... if it drags on too long, it won't be good for anyone."
I took out a piece of paper and a pen from my bag and pushed it in front of her. "Perhaps you could write down what you really want to say? Just a clarification statement, explaining that you've reconsidered the evidence and found nothing suspicious."
She looked at the paper, hesitating for a long time.
"Ms. West," my voice became gentler, "I'm not threatening you. I'm just seeking justice. If you truly believe I'm guilty, then let the investigation continue. But if you have even the slightest doubt, if you feel you might have overthought things, then please give an innocent girl a chance."
Finally, she picked up the pen.
"What should I write?" she asked.
I began to dictate slowly, and she wrote it down:
"To the relevant law enforcement authorities:
I, Susanna West, life guidance counselor at St. Anthony's Children's Home, provide the following clarification statement regarding the death of Mr. Michael Branford.
After carefully re-examining all relevant evidence, I believe my previous concerns were unfounded. Mr. Michael Branford was indeed under tremendous pressure before his death, including financial difficulties at the orphanage caused by the economic crisis. His reassessment of certain projects was a completely reasonable business decision and should not be interpreted as evidence of any suspicious behavior.
Miss Emma Modest had always been an exemplary student during Mr. Michael's lifetime, and she was deeply saddened by Mr. Michael's death. I have no evidence to suggest she had any improper association with this matter.
I sincerely apologize to Miss Emma for my erroneous judgment and hope this clarification can end unnecessary speculation about this tragic incident.
Susanna West
Date: [Today's date]"
When she finished writing, I carefully examined the content, then nodded with satisfaction.
"This is good, Ms. West," I said, "Now, about Mark's situation..."
"Can you really help him?" Her voice was filled with hope.
"I will do my best," I promised, "But you need to make sure this statement gets to the police as soon as possible. Can you do it tonight?"
"Yes," she nodded, "I'll deliver it personally."
"Good," I stood up, "Mrs. West, I think we've both made the right choice."
As I left the café, a familiar sense of satisfaction welled up inside me. Phase one complete. Susanna had written a statement proving my innocence, and now I needed to ensure she wouldn't change her mind.
That evening, I waited for news in my apartment. Richard came home late, looking somewhat tired but in good spirits.
"How did it go?" Victoria asked him, "Any progress with Tom?"
"Some good news," Richard sat down on the sofa, "The whistleblower contacted the police voluntarily, providing a clarification statement. It looks like the whole thing was just a misunderstanding."
I tried to make myself look surprised and happy. "Really? That's great!"
"Yes." Richard looked at me, "Emma, it seems like you can put this behind you very soon."
"I'm so grateful," I said, "Does this mean I don't have to worry anymore?"
"Basically, yes. The police will close the investigation, and you can continue with your new life." His tone was warm, "I think this proves that the truth always comes to the surface."
Would you still say that if you knew how I made this "truth" come to the surface?
The next morning, I received an unexpected call. It was another staff member from the orphanage, her voice very tense.
"Emma? It's me, Mary. I have very bad news to tell you."
My heart began to race, but my voice remained calm. "What news, Mary?"
"It's about Ms. Susanna. She... she committed suicide last night."
I let the phone slip from my hand, letting out a gasp. Victoria immediately ran in from the kitchen.
"Emma? What happened?"
My face was pale, my eyes filled with shock and fear. "Ms. Susanna... she's dead. She committed suicide."
This wasn't an act. This was genuine shock, as I hadn't expected things to develop so quickly.
Of course, I knew Susanna hadn't committed suicide. Last night, after she sent her clarification statement to the police station, I met with her again. That meeting took place at her home, a shabby apartment filled with an atmosphere of despair.
I told her I had contacted Richard, and he agreed to help Mark, but needed some time to make arrangements. I gave her a bottle of medication—sleeping pills left over from Michael's medications, telling her they would help her get through this stressful period.
"Just some mild sleeping pills," I said gently, "You look exhausted and need to rest well."
She trusted me, just as Michael had once trusted me.
After she had taken a sufficient dose, I helped her write a suicide note. Of course, this was after she had lost consciousness. Using her handwriting, I wrote:
"I can no longer bear this pressure. Mark's problems, financial difficulties, and my guilt over what I did to Emma. I wrongly suspected an innocent girl and almost ruined her life. I feel deep shame for my error in judgment.
Perhaps this is better for everyone. Mark can start over, and Emma no longer has to suffer from the pain caused by my mistakes.
I hope God can forgive me.
Susanna West"
Then I made sure the scene looked completely like a suicide: empty pill bottle, a glass of water, suicide note placed in a conspicuous position. I also found some photos of her son and court documents scattered on the table, which perfectly explained her motive for suicide.
When I left her apartment, it was already late at night. I made sure no one saw me, and deleted all our text message records. The next morning, the landlord discovered her body.
Now, sitting in the Branford family's living room, listening to Mary describe the discovery scene, I feel a complex mixture of emotions. Part of me feels genuine sadness for Susanna's death—she wasn't a bad person, just a desperate mother. But another part of me knows it was necessary. She threatened my future, and I was only protecting myself.
"It's terrible," I said to Victoria, with real tears in my eyes, "She must have been under too much pressure. If I had known she was suffering so much..."
"It's not your fault, Emma," Victoria comforted me, "Sometimes people make desperate choices."
Richard returned home earlier that day and learned the news. His expression was complicated.
"This is unfortunate," he said, "but perhaps to some extent, this ends the whole matter. She admitted her mistake in her suicide note, which is a complete vindication for you."
"I don't want such vindication," I said, crying, "If I had known she was so troubled, I would have tried to help her."
Richard walked to my side, gently stroking my shoulder. "Emma, you have a kind heart. But some people's pain is beyond the scope of our ability to help. You shouldn't blame yourself for this."
His touch made me feel a familiar warmth, mixed with something more complex. In this tragic moment, the connection between us seemed to grow stronger.
"Mr. Richard," I said softly, "I think I'm beginning to understand what you meant about the complexity of this world. Sometimes, even when we want to do the right thing, the outcome can still be tragic."
He looked into my eyes, and I could see he was reassessing something. "Yes, Emma. That's the price of maturity—understanding that the world isn't always fair, and people don't always get what they deserve."
"How are we supposed to live, then?" I asked, "knowing all this?"
"We learn to protect what and who matters." His voice was gentle, "We become strong enough to make difficult decisions when necessary."
That night, alone in my room, I stood before the mirror, staring at my reflection. Susanna West was dead, but her death had cleared my name, ended the police investigation, and shown Richard my "maturity" and "understanding."
I took out my phone and deleted the last few search queries related to Susanna. Then I walked to the window, looking down at the Manhattan skyline at night.
Somewhere in this city, a mother will never see her son again. And here, a former orphan is moving towards the goal of becoming a Wall Street elite.
I recall Darwin's words: survival of the fittest. In this cruel world, only the smartest, strongest, and most ruthless can survive. I have proven that I belong to this group.
I gently touch the pearl necklace on my neck, remembering Michael's words: "Elena will definitely like you." Now, I know that Richard has also begun to appreciate me. Not because of my tears or pleas, but because of the ability and understanding I've demonstrated.
Tomorrow, I will begin my new life as Richard's true student. I have proven that I am worthy of his investment, worthy of his trust, worthy of his protection.
I close my eyes and imagine my future: Columbia University Business School, an internship position on Wall Street, and eventually becoming a member of the financial world. This path may still be long and may require more sacrifices, but I am ready.
In the darkness, I smiled. Not the perfect smile I show to others, but a smile from the heart, one that belongs to the real me.
Emma Modest's story was just beginning.
No matter the cost.
