Chapter 6 - The Interrogation
The duplicate gasped, her breath hitching in her throat as her eyes adjusted and caught the vision of her own face staring back at her. The psychological shock was instantaneous. The woman's pupils dilated in absolute terror, her body thrashing against the zip-ties binding her wrists behind her back.
"You..." the duplicate wheezed, blood flecking her lips as she struggled to speak. "You... were supposed to be... in the garden..."
"I changed my schedule," Nora replied smoothly, pulling a chair out from the dining table and sitting down with immaculate poise. "I found the soil too damp for trimming the roses this morning. A fortunate decision for me. A catastrophic one for you."
Chloe stood behind her mother’s chair, her phone held tightly in her hand, her eyes locked on the woman lying bound on the floor. The resemblance was uncanny—it was like looking at a mirror that had been warped by violence.
"Who are you?" Chloe asked, her voice cracking. "What is your real name?"
The woman on the floor panted heavily, pain searing through the back of her head. "V-Victoria," she whispered, her resistance evaporating under the weight of her physical injury and total failure. "Victoria Vance."
"An actress?" Nora queried, raising an eyebrow with dark amusement. "A disgraced theater performer from the West End, perhaps? Or simply a desperate woman with a high tolerance for plastic surgery?"
"Julian... Julian paid for the procedures," Victoria wept, her tears mixing with the blood on her cheek. "Eighteen months... eighteen months in a private clinic in Zurich. I studied your tapes... your voice... your accent... your gait... everything..."
"And Rachel?" Nora pressed, leaning forward. "Who is Rachel?"
"Rachel... isn't a housekeeper," Victoria rasped, closing her eyes as a wave of nausea hit her. "She's... she's a fixer. Julian hired her to... to dispose of you today. I was supposed to... step down from the car after Rachel took your body out through the cellar..."
"So the plan was murder," Nora stated flatly. "Julian intended to have me killed in my own kitchen, while you stepped into my clothes, took my seat at this table, and signed over the family trust."
Victoria did not deny it. She squeezed her eyes shut, sobbing quietly against the cold hardwood floor.
Chloe fell back against the counter, her stomach churning violently. Her husband—the man she had shared a bed with for six years, the man who had held her when her father died—had planned to butcher her mother in cold blood.
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"Where is Julian now?" Chloe demanded, her terror turning into a white-hot spark of rage. "Where is he, Victoria?!"
Victoria opened her eyes slowly, looking up at Chloe with pity. "He's... he's at the regional bank in town. He's waiting for my call... the call confirming that the real Nora Saint-Martin is dead."
