The days began to blur together, Interrogations, Paperwork.
The same questions were asked in slightly different ways, as if they were waiting for me to slip.
Aaron never left my side, every morning he was there before visiting hours officially began. Every afternoon he sat across from me behind scratched glass, listening as I repeated the same explanation.
"I reviewed the files."
"I didn't authorize any secondary account."
"I didn't redirect any funds."
The investigators didn't shout.
That would have been easier.
But they were calm and controlled Almost polite.
"Forensic accounting shows the funds were redirected to an account created three weeks prior to approval," one of them said.
"I didn't create any account." I replied immediately.
"But the authorization came from your login credentials."Another officer added.
That silenced me.
My login.
My password.
My access.
Aaron's hand tightened around mine under the metal table.
"We'll prove it," he said quietly.
I wanted to believe him. I really did.
But doubt was starting to feel heavier than hope.
On the fourth day, I overheard something that made my stomach twist.
Luciana had been called in for questioning.
The same Luciana who handed me the files that day.
I wasn't allowed to see her, but through the small wired window I caught a glimpse of her walking out of the interview room hours later.
She was calm and very collective.
Adjusting her handbag as if she had just finished a normal meeting. She didn't look shaken or afraid.
"She cooperated," one officer muttered to another. "she followed standard protocol."
Standard protocol?.
So if she followed protocol…
Then I didn't.
The narrative was forming without me in it.
My mother came the next day.
She looked smaller somehow when she sat down across from me. Older. Tired.
Disappointed.
"What is this I'm hearing?" she asked quietly. "Fraud? Police? Jail?"
"It's not what it looks like."
"When is it ever?" she replied.
That hurt more than the handcuffs.
"You always find yourself in trouble," she continued. "Always something dramatic. Why can't you be careful? Why can't you be steady like your sister?"
There it was that damn comparison.
I swallowed hard.
"I didn't do anything," I whispered.
She studied me for a long moment.
"Then why does trouble follow you?"
I didn't have an answer.
When she left, I felt smaller than when she arrived.
Aaron wrapped his arm around my shoulders afterward.
"She doesn't understand," he murmured.
I didn't respond.
Two days later, tension broke in the most unexpected way.
I was expecting another legal update when I heard a familiar voice arguing lightly with a guard down the corridor.
"I promise I'm not here to break her out. Relax."
I almost laughed before I even saw her.
She walked in dramatically, sunglasses pushed up on her head like this was a social visit instead of a detention center.
She stopped when she saw me.
"Oh my God," she gasped. "You look terrible."
I blinked at her. "Thank you."
"If this is your new skincare routine, I don't recommend it."
Aaron shook his head beside me. "Be serious."
She smirked at him. "Relax, cousin. If she survives you, she'll survive this."
That familiarity, that ease — it felt like oxygen.
For ten minutes she talked about nonsense. Gossip. Someone's failed engagement. How Aaron had been pacing like a rejected house cat since my arrest.
"He's been unbearable," she teased.
Aaron rolled his eyes. "Ignore her."
For the first time in days, I laughed.
Then her phone rang.
She glanced at the screen.
And something shifted.
She stepped aside to answer, her voice lower now.
"Yes… I understand… No, she doesn't know… Alright."
When she returned, the playfulness was gone.
"I have to go," she said quickly.
"That fast?" Aaron asked.
"Family thing."
She leaned toward me slightly. "Hang in there. You're stronger than you think."
Then she left.
Aaron watched her walk away longer than necessary.
By the sixth day, the company filed a formal criminal complaint.
It was no longer internal.
It was official.
Unauthorized financial redirection.
Corporate fraud.
Intent to misappropriate funds.
"Intent?" I repeated during questioning. "You think I intended to steal from my own company?"
The officer's expression didn't change.
"Someone pushed for this to be processed quickly."
Quickly.
That word again.
Even Aaron noticed.
"This was fast-tracked," he muttered later. "Too fast."
I stared down at my hands.
The fraud.
The board finding out too quickly.
The police arriving within days.
No one even knew how the case reached the authorities so fast while it was still under internal investigation.
Someone had moved it forward.
Someone powerful.
Through all of it, Victor never came.
Not once.
No visit.
No message.
Nothing.
I told myself I didn't care.
But every time footsteps echoed down the corridor, my heart betrayed me.
If it were my sister in here, he would have torn the place apart.
But me?
Nothing.
Aaron was the one here.
Aaron was the one holding my hand.
Aaron was the one fighting.
On the seventh morning, a guard unlocked my cell.
"Visitor."
I walked down the corridor slowly, exhaustion weighing on every step.
And then I saw Victor standing with his controlled posture, and impeccable suit, he had an unreadable expression on his face.
Beside him stood a senior officer.
Aaron was there too, confusion written across his face.
He didn't look at me immediately. He spoke quietly to the officer first.
The officer nodded.
Then he turned toward me.
"Mrs. Alyssa Raymond."
My breathing hitched.
"You're now free to go."