Chapter 18: The Missing Alibi

Elaine Pierce did not answer her daughter.

That silence lasted only a few seconds, but it was long enough for everyone in the hallway to notice.

Greer's attorney stepped forward. “This is not the appropriate place for this conversation.”

Greer ignored him.

“Mom, tell them where we were.”

Elaine's eyes moved toward me, then toward the staff member standing between us.

“Greer, come inside.”

“No.”

Her voice cracked.

“Mason says I took the picture of Imogen. I didn't. You know I didn't.”

I stood still.

I had spent days waiting for Greer to be cornered by her own lies.

But this didn't feel like victory.

She looked genuinely terrified.

Principal Warren appeared in the doorway.

“Everyone inside. Now.”

My mother was called.

So was Officer Ramirez.

Within forty minutes, we were sitting in the conference room again.

This time, Elaine had her attorney beside her.

Greer sat several chairs away.

She kept staring at her mother.

Ramirez placed a printed timeline on the table.

“The photograph of Imogen walking home was sent at 4:18 p.m. on Tuesday.”

He looked at Greer.

“You say you were with your mother at that time?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

Greer swallowed.

“In her car.”

Elaine's attorney interrupted. “Mrs. Pierce is not here to provide testimony in a criminal investigation without separate counsel.”

Greer stared at him.

“She's my mother.”

No one answered.

Ramirez remained calm.

“Greer, do you have independent evidence?”

Her face changed.

Then she grabbed her phone.

“Location history.”

Her attorney whispered something, but she shook him off.

She opened an app and placed the phone on the table.

Her location showed a shopping district nearly seven miles from the street where my photograph had been taken.

At 4:18 p.m., she had been inside a department store.

“There are cameras everywhere,” Greer said quickly. “Check them.”

Ramirez photographed the screen.

“We will.”

I looked at Elaine.

She hadn't moved.

“Were you with her?” my mother asked.

Elaine's attorney said, “Please direct questions through me.”

My mother leaned back.

“Fine. Ask your client why she won't give her own daughter an alibi.”

The attorney's expression hardened.

Elaine finally spoke.

“Because I left Greer at the store for approximately forty minutes.”

Greer froze.

“What?”

“I had an appointment.”

“You said you were getting coffee.”

Elaine closed her eyes.

Greer's face drained.

“Where did you go?”

“Greer.”

“Where?”

Ramirez intervened.

“Mrs. Pierce, was your appointment anywhere near Imogen's route home?”

Her attorney immediately objected.

Elaine said nothing.

But once again, silence answered more loudly than words.

After the meeting, Ramirez asked me not to speculate.

I promised I wouldn't.

That promise became difficult when the police requested traffic-camera footage connected to a Pierce Holdings vehicle.

The same black sedan later seen outside my apartment.

My mother and I went home together.

She locked the door twice.

“Do you think Elaine took the picture?”

“I don't know.”

“You have a theory.”

“A theory isn't evidence.”

My mother smiled faintly.

“You really have changed.”

I looked at her.

“Is that bad?”

“No.”

She touched my cheek.

“You're still you. You're just harder to push around.”

That night, Greer emailed me through our attorneys so she wouldn't violate the no-contact order.

The message contained only three sentences.

“I didn't take your picture.”

“I know you don't believe me.”

“But I think my mother did.”

I read it twice.

Then a fourth sentence appeared in a follow-up email.

“And I think I know why.”

The next morning, Ms. Alvarez contacted Greer's attorney.

A supervised exchange was arranged.

Greer entered the conference room carrying a folder.

She didn't look at me at first.

Then she placed the folder on the table.

“My mother has been watching you since before the hospital.”

My stomach tightened.

“How long?”

Greer finally met my eyes.

“Since you got the scholarship.”

The room went silent.

She opened the folder.

Inside were printed photographs.

Me entering school.

Me at the library.

My mother picking me up after an exam.

None were intimate.

None were illegal on their face.

But together, they formed a pattern.

Someone had been documenting my life.

Greer whispered, “I found these in her office last night.”

I saved the relevant document with the date in its filename and backed it up twice. Evidence had become boring, repetitive work, and that was exactly why it protected me.

My mother checked my medication schedule before we left. The incision was healing well, but she refused to let the chaos make me neglect my recovery.

I reminded myself that remembering another life did not give me permission to invent facts in this one. Every accusation still needed proof.

I looked at Elaine's daughter and understood something terrifying.

The rumor that killed me in my first life might have been only the surface.

Something had been happening around me long before Greer ever pressed Post.