Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards - Chapter 15: Chapter 15
You are reading Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards, Chapter 15: Chapter 15. Read more chapters of Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards.
Timothy raced to the precinct after getting the call.
In the interrogation room, exhaustion written across his face, Kevin Hanks briefed him on the case.
"These two shitheads are black market drug dealers. They claim they never sexually harassed Skylar—just 'collecting on unpaid debts.'"
The taller suspect sat there in handcuffs, looking smug:
"Honestly, it's a damn shame that girl was so fine. If she'd been willing to sleep with the right people, she wouldn't have been scrambling for drug money, you know what I'm saying?"
Timothy's voice was deadly quiet: "Shut your fucking mouth."
Kevin whispered urgently: "They're getting transferred to Major Crimes in thirty minutes. Ask whatever you need to ask now."
Timothy grabbed Kevin's phone and scrolled through text messages between Skylar and the dealers—page after page of desperate bargaining.
The dealer kept running his mouth: "Look, she needed pain meds, I sold her pain meds. What's illegal about that?"
"Everything I gave her was just regular ibuprofen anyway. Basic over-the-counter shit repackaged in fancy bottles. I wasn't trying to kill nobody."
Timothy's control finally snapped. He kicked the suspect's chair so hard it nearly toppled:
"You sold dying people sugar pills at prescription prices!"
"These are cancer patients! They trusted you with their lives and you gave them fucking Tylenol!"
The dealer actually laughed: "You think they could afford real chemo drugs? Those cost like fifty grand a month. At least my shit helped with the pain. I gave them hope—that's worth something."
Timothy grabbed the case file and slammed it down: "Look at these death certificates! Look how many people died because they bought your fake drugs instead of real treatment!"
Kevin had to physically drag Timothy out of the room before he did something career-ending.
Timothy collapsed onto a bench in the hallway, his whole body shaking.
*Skylar used to spend thousands on a single outfit. She grew up as a pampered princess with everything handed to her.*
*But at the end, she couldn't even afford real medicine.*
Like a man possessed, Timothy pulled out his phone and started searching for traces of her final years. He had to know how much she'd suffered.
Finally, buried deep in search results, he found a private Instagram account.
**January 15, 2020: "Diagnosed with hereditary leukemia today. Stage 2."**
Timothy's blood went cold. January 15th—the day Skylar had called him twelve times in a row.
He'd been at West Point that day, in the middle of final exams and tactical training. When she finally got through on the thirteenth call, he'd been stressed and exhausted.
Her voice had been shaking, barely holding back tears: "Timothy, I need to tell you something really important—"
But Timothy had been so fucking tired and stressed about graduation that he'd cut her off: "Skylar, I'm swamped right now. Can this wait?"
Then he'd hung up on her.
*She was sitting alone in some hospital corridor, clutching test results that said she was going to die. And I hung up on her.*
His hands trembled as he scrolled down.
**"When I told Mom and Dad about the cancer, their first reaction was to demand a DNA test. Turns out I'm not their biological daughter. Katherine Farrell is."**
**"The people I called Mom and Dad for twenty-two years aren't actually my parents."**
The pain in Timothy's chest was so sharp he could barely stay upright. His throat closed up completely.
He suddenly remembered the handprint on Skylar's face at the wedding venue—Mrs. Farrell had slapped her.
*Her own adoptive daughter. The girl she'd raised from birth.*
Timothy made a sound like a wounded animal.
*In her final weeks, when she was dying and terrified, she must have been desperate for family, for someone to love her.*
*What the fuck had she done wrong except get sick?*
In the interrogation room, exhaustion written across his face, Kevin Hanks briefed him on the case.
"These two shitheads are black market drug dealers. They claim they never sexually harassed Skylar—just 'collecting on unpaid debts.'"
The taller suspect sat there in handcuffs, looking smug:
"Honestly, it's a damn shame that girl was so fine. If she'd been willing to sleep with the right people, she wouldn't have been scrambling for drug money, you know what I'm saying?"
Timothy's voice was deadly quiet: "Shut your fucking mouth."
Kevin whispered urgently: "They're getting transferred to Major Crimes in thirty minutes. Ask whatever you need to ask now."
Timothy grabbed Kevin's phone and scrolled through text messages between Skylar and the dealers—page after page of desperate bargaining.
The dealer kept running his mouth: "Look, she needed pain meds, I sold her pain meds. What's illegal about that?"
"Everything I gave her was just regular ibuprofen anyway. Basic over-the-counter shit repackaged in fancy bottles. I wasn't trying to kill nobody."
Timothy's control finally snapped. He kicked the suspect's chair so hard it nearly toppled:
"You sold dying people sugar pills at prescription prices!"
"These are cancer patients! They trusted you with their lives and you gave them fucking Tylenol!"
The dealer actually laughed: "You think they could afford real chemo drugs? Those cost like fifty grand a month. At least my shit helped with the pain. I gave them hope—that's worth something."
Timothy grabbed the case file and slammed it down: "Look at these death certificates! Look how many people died because they bought your fake drugs instead of real treatment!"
Kevin had to physically drag Timothy out of the room before he did something career-ending.
Timothy collapsed onto a bench in the hallway, his whole body shaking.
*Skylar used to spend thousands on a single outfit. She grew up as a pampered princess with everything handed to her.*
*But at the end, she couldn't even afford real medicine.*
Like a man possessed, Timothy pulled out his phone and started searching for traces of her final years. He had to know how much she'd suffered.
Finally, buried deep in search results, he found a private Instagram account.
**January 15, 2020: "Diagnosed with hereditary leukemia today. Stage 2."**
Timothy's blood went cold. January 15th—the day Skylar had called him twelve times in a row.
He'd been at West Point that day, in the middle of final exams and tactical training. When she finally got through on the thirteenth call, he'd been stressed and exhausted.
Her voice had been shaking, barely holding back tears: "Timothy, I need to tell you something really important—"
But Timothy had been so fucking tired and stressed about graduation that he'd cut her off: "Skylar, I'm swamped right now. Can this wait?"
Then he'd hung up on her.
*She was sitting alone in some hospital corridor, clutching test results that said she was going to die. And I hung up on her.*
His hands trembled as he scrolled down.
**"When I told Mom and Dad about the cancer, their first reaction was to demand a DNA test. Turns out I'm not their biological daughter. Katherine Farrell is."**
**"The people I called Mom and Dad for twenty-two years aren't actually my parents."**
The pain in Timothy's chest was so sharp he could barely stay upright. His throat closed up completely.
He suddenly remembered the handprint on Skylar's face at the wedding venue—Mrs. Farrell had slapped her.
*Her own adoptive daughter. The girl she'd raised from birth.*
Timothy made a sound like a wounded animal.
*In her final weeks, when she was dying and terrified, she must have been desperate for family, for someone to love her.*
*What the fuck had she done wrong except get sick?*
End of Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards Chapter 15. Continue reading Chapter 16 or return to Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards book page.