Chapter 8 - The Shadow's Revenge
As the date for Nora’s debut fashion show approached, a desperate shadow lurked in the corners of Charleston.
Brooke Bellamy had reached rock bottom. Her fingers, once polished and soft, were blistered from washing chemicals. Her social media followers had abandoned her, mocking her former vanity. Every billboard in the city seemed to feature Nora’s striking face and the announcement of The Golden Wren runway show at the historic Dock Street Theatre.
Consumed by jealousy and venomous madness, Brooke met with her mother during prison visiting hours.
""She took everything from us, Mom!"" Brooke wept through the plexiglass. ""She’s famous now! People are calling her an icon, and Gabriel Varrone is with her every single day! I want her dead! I want her burned!""
Celeste’s eyes were sunken and bitter. ""You don't need to kill her, Brooke. You destroy her art. Without her dresses, she is nothing. The opening show is her entire future. Burn it.""
Late the following evening, two nights before the grand opening, a dark figure slipped through the alleyway behind the King Street atelier. Brooke wore a dark hoodie and carried a metal can filled with industrial kerosene. She used an old emergency key that Celeste had hidden years ago in an outdoor junction box.
The heavy back door clicked open. Brooke sneaked into the darkened showroom, her heart pounding with vicious excitement. Rows of breathtaking gowns hung beneath protective covers, ready for the runway.
""Let's see them applaud you now, you fat pig,"" Brooke whispered under her breath, unscrewing the cap of the kerosene can.
She poured the fuel across the display racks, splashing it over the silk hemlines and dousing the runway carpet. She pulled a brass lighter from her pocket, struck the flint, and raised the flame.
""I wouldn't drop that if I were you,"" a voice echoed through the dark.
The overhead spotlights suddenly snapped on, blinding Brooke.
Brooke screamed, dropping the lighter onto the unsoaked concrete near her feet.
Standing on the mezzanine above was Gabriel Varrone, flanked by two detectives from the Charleston Police Department. Down on the floor, emerging from the fitting rooms, were four uniformed officers with their weapons drawn.
""Did you really believe we wouldn't monitor this building?"" Nora said, walking out from Gabriel’s office, looking completely composed. ""We changed the locks three months ago, Brooke. We left that emergency box outside specifically to see if your greed would drive you to commit another felony.""
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Brooke dropped to her knees, sobbing hysterically as the police grabbed her wrists and snapped heavy steel handcuffs around them. ""Nora! Please! Don't do this! We’re sisters! Blood is thicker than water!""
""You were never my sister,"" Nora replied with cold elegance. ""You were just a thief who overstayed her welcome.""
