Page 114 of Most Eligible Billionaire

I was in such a state when they pulled me out, all I wanted was to be home, bundled up in bed with my things around me. I would’ve said anything to get warm and clean in my own bed.

“It was only later I remembered my shirt,” I tell him. “I opened up the bag and found the crusty stain and I realized he’d, you know, the shirt. Mom is the one who kept back the shirt. I was sixteen. I wasn’t thinking five moves ahead like she was.”

I pause, amazed he’s still with me, there on that dark stoop. The people of the Financial District file back and forth on the sidewalk a few yards in front of us.

They seem miles away.

“I thought we should bring it to the police, but she said we should keep it for the trial. She said we couldn’t trust the police, that we needed to keep the evidence. The Woodruffs tried to pay me off. A half a million dollars. Five hundred thousand.”

“That must’ve seemed like a lot of money to you. You passed up a lot of money.”

“I wanted to stand up for other girls. I had evidence…I felt so sure…”

I suck in a breath, determined to get through the story calmly.

“I was so sure I’d be able to prove it with that shirt, you know?” I continue. “When it came back as mayonnaise, I thought the police lab was lying. Like the Woodruffs paid off the lab, and I demanded an independent analysis. Mayo again. By that time, I was this monster. Months later, I found the bank statement from my mom’s account. Twenty thousand dollars deposited into it the day before we produced the shirt for testing.”

“The Woodruffs,” he says.

“It was a pretty common shirt from Savemart. I think they bought a duplicate and switched it. The mayo would’ve been the Woodruffs’ idea. My mother would never have thought of something so devious and damning. The mayo is what made me look like I deliberately tried to frame him. Like a teen without sophisticated knowledge of forensic techniques tried to frame this rich boy. Everybody hated me. The world was this wall of hate.”

“The betrayal you were talking about,” he says. “That was your mom selling the shirt.”

I nod. “There was nothing she wouldn’t do. She was a good mom before Dad died. But after…” I shake my head. “But I just wanted justice. I wanted the world to know what kind of guy Denny is.”

I look up at him, blood racing, waiting for questions, but all I see is affection. Concern.

“You believe me?”

“What? Of course.”

I search his eyes. “Because of how I was in the elevator?”

“No, because of how you are period. Because I know who you are.”

My belly flip-flops. “You didn’t even know my name until now.”

“A name isn’t who a person is.”

I put my forehead to his chest, smash my face to his chest. The relief I feel is nearly overwhelming. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. After what you’ve been through? I don’t remember the specifics of the case, but I sure remember the Vonda O’Neil feeding frenzy. I remember that. And you were innocent all that time. God.”

The world feels like it’s raining, and the rain is a mixture of tears and pure water that’s washing everything clear.

He believes me. He’s with me. I want him to say it again. And again and again.

“That’s when you came here?”

I sigh. “My mom took a year to burn through the money. She had a lot of bad boyfriends. She was going downhill. It got less and less safe for me and Carly as the money dwindled. I’d been secretly saving, though. And then I did an interview they paid me for, and that was a lot of money. That was what I used to move one night. I just took her and ran. I didn’t want Carly to stay back there. It wasn’t safe for either of us, but especially not Carly. I mean, it wasn’t always so bad. Before my dad died, we were a normal family. A happy family.”

He sets a hand on my arm. “I can’t even imagine.”

“You believe me,” I say.

There’s an angry edge to his voice. “Of course I do.”

I feel like laughing.

---