That same day, I compiled all the evidence into a single file, quietly waiting for the perfect moment to strike. By the next afternoon, I was seated in my office, watching a star-studded celebrity awards show flashing across the wall-mounted TV. The host’s voice echoed through the speakers.
“Let’s congratulate Ms. Eleanor! She’s won both the Global Annual Best Artwork Award and the Sculptor of the Year Award, two of the most prestigious honors!”
Applause thundered. Bathed in the spotlight and camera flashes, Eleanor rose from her seat. Her floor-length blue mermaid gown shimmered with every step, accentuating her graceful figure and dignified air. With a warm smile, she accepted the accolades.
The host’s voice rang out again, filled with admiration.
“‘Final Mother’s Love’ portrays a mother, torn apart by a bombing, breastfeeding her child one final time before death. Her selfless love in the face of tragedy has touched the hearts of hundreds of millions.”
“Ms. Eleanor, could you share the story behind this masterpiece?”
Holding the microphone with poise, the fine lines around Eleanor’s eyes seemed to add a sense of wisdom and refinement. She spoke gracefully, “To create this work, I ventured deep into a war zone. As you all know, that’s unimaginably dangerous. But for the sake of true art, I remained in that perilous land for an entire month. During one of the bombings, my assistant was buried forever in a foreign ruin.”
“That’s why we must cherish life, reflect on war, and stand against all acts that disregard human dignity.”
As she spoke, tears shimmered in her eyes. A wave of applause erupted through the venue. With glistening tears on her cheeks, Eleanor raised her fist and declared, “I hope the world will always be at peace, and that everyone will treasure life!”
If I hadn’t known what she was truly like behind the curtain, I might’ve been moved too. The host pressed on.
“What inspired you to pursue such a noble path in art?”
Eleanor’s gaze gently drifted toward someone in the crowd.
“The man I love. He’s always supported me in doing what I’m passionate about.”
The applause grew even louder, filled with admiration for a love that seemed almost poetic. The audience buzzed with curiosity, eager to know who the lucky man was. Seated among them, Stephen looked straight at her with tender eyes, his expression soft and affectionate. Then his phone buzzed. The moment he saw the screen, all that affection vanished, replaced by a flicker of shock, then seething rage.
Twenty minutes earlier, in Edmund’s office, I stared at the documents in my hand, unwavering, before picking up the phone to call someone I trusted deeply.
“Officer Brandon, I’d like to report a crime.”
“There’s a woman named Eleanor Windsor. During her time as a war zone artist abroad, she was involved in the murder of her ‘assistant.’ I have both witness testimony and hard evidence.”
After hanging up, I dialed my private investigator calmly.
“Bring George Everly over. I’ll head to the station with him to testify.”
Before the witness even arrived, the office door slammed open. A swarm of people burst in. At the front were none other than Stephen and Eleanor. Stephen’s face was taut with rage he barely managed to contain, while Eleanor’s eyes were red and swollen, tears still clinging to her lashes. The moment Stephen saw Edmund seated beside me, his expression darkened, his eyes turning even redder than Eleanor’s. Seething, he marched toward me and barked, “Did you report Eleanor? Are you trying to frame her?”
“You venomous woman! How dare you try to destroy me!”
Eleanor, clinging to Stephen’s support, lunged straight at me. But Edmund’s eyes turned cold. He caught her wrist mid-air.
“Assaulting someone inside Dalton Corp? You must be tired of living.”
Just then, my secretary came running, breathless.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Edmund! I couldn’t stop them, security is on the way!”
Eleanor pointed a trembling finger at me, voice shrill with fury.
“Victoria, you’re just jealous! Clear my name! I couldn’t have killed anyone!”
Behind her, Officer Brandon entered the room, trailed by another officer and a cameraman. Eleanor had been in the limelight day after day, her name splashed across every headline. But now, at the peak of her fame, this report could bring it all crashing down. Stephen clenched his fists, forcing calm into his tone as he pleaded, “This is an international award, it means everything to Eleanor. Know you don’t like her, but accusing someone of murder? That’s not a joke. Just withdraw the report, Victoria.”
Officer Brandon added firmly, “False reporting is a serious matter. It carries administrative detention.”
I looked him straight in the eye.
“When I filed the report, I clearly stated I had both a witness and solid evidence. This wasn’t a false accusation.”
Eleanor’s face drained of color.
“Victoria, you’re lying!”
While she was still shouting, two more people stepped into the office. The moment I saw them, I couldn’t help but smile. One was the private investigator I had hired. The other was the key witness he had protected, George, the thin, one-legged man leaning on a crutch.
I pointed toward him and said to Eleanor, “Open your eyes, Eleanor. Take a good look at who this is.”
She turned. The instant she saw his face, her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the floor.
Some time ago, I had gone all in to investigate Eleanor. Eventually, I uncovered a secret so damning it could burn everything she’d built. Yes, she had indeed been in a war zone. But that whole tale about risking her life in a combat area for a full month? A complete lie. She had spent the entire time in a safe zone. All those stunning works were created not by her but by a man she hired, George. He was the one who braved danger, entered the war zone, captured the images, and turned them into sculptures. He poured his soul into crafting the piece called Final Mother’s Love. And the moment Eleanor laid eyes on it, she knew it would make headlines. She bought it at a steep price, but fear clawed at her. She knew he could expose her at any moment. So she faked joy, played along, and pretended to celebrate with him.
That night, after slipping a heavy dose of sleeping pills into his drink, she had him dumped straight into the heart of the active war zone. As the city crumbled into ruins, Eleanor believed George was dead and proudly paraded the masterpiece as her own. But fate didn’t bend to her plans. Against all odds, George survived. He lost a leg and endured a long coma, but he came back.
As Eleanor wailed and begged for mercy, George handed a portable hard drive to the police. It held every piece of original footage, every frame of video showing him crafting the sculpture from start to finish.
Eleanor sobbed, “Okay, yes, I did buy the piece from George, but I didn’t kill anyone! I love peace, I swear I’m innocent! George, you must be mistaken!”
No matter how loudly she screamed, the handcuffs still locked around her wrists. The police dragged her away without a glance back. Watching her shoved into the police car, Stephen looked like he was about to erupt.
“Eleanor is so kind! How could she kill someone? Victoria, is this some twisted plot? Why would you do this to her?!”
At a cold glance from Edmund, two towering bodyguards stepped forward, seized Stephen by the arms, and dragged him away.
“You have to help her clear her name! You’re ruining her!”
But he had once ruined me. Back when the media slandered me, when the headlines tore me apart, and the world spat filth at me, why didn’t he speak up for me then?