I Died a Bride, I Woke Up a Vengeance - Chapter 5: Chapter 5
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The police zeroed in on the bag's location using the micro-tracker, finding it stashed in the trunk of Claudette's personal car.
When the squad cars rolled up to the press conference, lights flashing, the director and actors froze in confusion. Angie, sensing trouble, quietly slipped away from the spotlight.
Officers surrounded Claudette's car, demanding she open the door.
"Excuse me?" Claudette snapped, equal parts shocked and furious.
If word got out that the police had searched her vehicle, the tabloids would have a field day—her reputation could be shredded in hours.
"You're under suspicion for possessing stolen luxury handbags worth seven million dollars," the officer stated flatly. "Given the value, we will force entry if you refuse to cooperate."
They flashed the photos I'd taken of the bags as proof.
Claudette's eyes darted from the images to Angie, then back. With a stiff nod to her assistant, the trunk clicked open.
"These were a gift from Angie," she hissed. "You'd better be very sure about your accusations."
Her tone was sharp, but the cracks in her confidence were obvious.
Angie, meanwhile, looked like a deer in headlights. She tried to bolt, but an officer blocked her path. Frantic, she fumbled with her phone, firing off messages.
Once the police confirmed the bag was mine, Claudette backpedaled hard.
"Angie gave these to me! How was I supposed to know they were stolen?"
Thanks to her social media posts, everyone knew exactly who'd handed her the bags.
Then I dropped the next bomb: the car Angie had driven here? Also mine.
Suddenly, the room turned on her.
Minutes ago, she'd been clawing for attention—now, the crowd was hungry for her downfall.
"So much for the wealthy heiress act. Just a common thief."
"Dragging Claudette into this? Pathetic."
"If you can't afford the lifestyle, don't fake it."
Angie stood silent, tears streaking her makeup.
Claudette, her patience gone, shoved her hard.
"Say something! You gave me those bags—this isn't my mess!"
Cameras flashed, reporters salivating over the drama.
With her image crumbling, Claudette snapped—slapping Angie across the face.
Finally, under the weight of the crowd's stares, Angie broke.
"Lynda, how could you?" she wailed, collapsing into sobs. "You gave me those things, and now you're setting me up!"
I looked down at her, cold amusement curling my lips.
"Oh? I thought I was just your housekeeper."
Then Dominick stormed in.
He hauled Angie up, thumb brushing her tears away.
"I'm her brother and her lawyer," he said, glaring at me. "You've got a problem? Take it up with me."
The police briefed him, then gave us thirty minutes to "work it out" privately.
Angie clung to Dominick, trembling.
"She came at me with all these people, Dominick. I—I was so scared." Her voice cracked. "Not even Dad's funeral was this awful."
He stroked her back, murmuring, "I've got you. Always."
It was like a bad melodrama.
Oh, please. The poor, victimized Cinderella and her knight in shining armor?
I knocked sharply on the table.
"Let's cut the act. There's nothing to negotiate."
Angie had stolen my mother's belongings—repeatedly—and handed them out like party favors.
As far as I was concerned? That made her a thief.
When the squad cars rolled up to the press conference, lights flashing, the director and actors froze in confusion. Angie, sensing trouble, quietly slipped away from the spotlight.
Officers surrounded Claudette's car, demanding she open the door.
"Excuse me?" Claudette snapped, equal parts shocked and furious.
If word got out that the police had searched her vehicle, the tabloids would have a field day—her reputation could be shredded in hours.
"You're under suspicion for possessing stolen luxury handbags worth seven million dollars," the officer stated flatly. "Given the value, we will force entry if you refuse to cooperate."
They flashed the photos I'd taken of the bags as proof.
Claudette's eyes darted from the images to Angie, then back. With a stiff nod to her assistant, the trunk clicked open.
"These were a gift from Angie," she hissed. "You'd better be very sure about your accusations."
Her tone was sharp, but the cracks in her confidence were obvious.
Angie, meanwhile, looked like a deer in headlights. She tried to bolt, but an officer blocked her path. Frantic, she fumbled with her phone, firing off messages.
Once the police confirmed the bag was mine, Claudette backpedaled hard.
"Angie gave these to me! How was I supposed to know they were stolen?"
Thanks to her social media posts, everyone knew exactly who'd handed her the bags.
Then I dropped the next bomb: the car Angie had driven here? Also mine.
Suddenly, the room turned on her.
Minutes ago, she'd been clawing for attention—now, the crowd was hungry for her downfall.
"So much for the wealthy heiress act. Just a common thief."
"Dragging Claudette into this? Pathetic."
"If you can't afford the lifestyle, don't fake it."
Angie stood silent, tears streaking her makeup.
Claudette, her patience gone, shoved her hard.
"Say something! You gave me those bags—this isn't my mess!"
Cameras flashed, reporters salivating over the drama.
With her image crumbling, Claudette snapped—slapping Angie across the face.
Finally, under the weight of the crowd's stares, Angie broke.
"Lynda, how could you?" she wailed, collapsing into sobs. "You gave me those things, and now you're setting me up!"
I looked down at her, cold amusement curling my lips.
"Oh? I thought I was just your housekeeper."
Then Dominick stormed in.
He hauled Angie up, thumb brushing her tears away.
"I'm her brother and her lawyer," he said, glaring at me. "You've got a problem? Take it up with me."
The police briefed him, then gave us thirty minutes to "work it out" privately.
Angie clung to Dominick, trembling.
"She came at me with all these people, Dominick. I—I was so scared." Her voice cracked. "Not even Dad's funeral was this awful."
He stroked her back, murmuring, "I've got you. Always."
It was like a bad melodrama.
Oh, please. The poor, victimized Cinderella and her knight in shining armor?
I knocked sharply on the table.
"Let's cut the act. There's nothing to negotiate."
Angie had stolen my mother's belongings—repeatedly—and handed them out like party favors.
As far as I was concerned? That made her a thief.
End of I Died a Bride, I Woke Up a Vengeance Chapter 5. Continue reading Chapter 6 or return to I Died a Bride, I Woke Up a Vengeance book page.