Chapter 3: What the Camera Saw
No one moved toward the ring.
That was the first strange thing.
Two hundred people, and not one of them reached down to pick it up.
They all just stared at it catching the light on the marble floor, and then they looked at Amanda, and Amanda looked at nothing at all.
My father crouched down slowly and picked the ring up himself.
He held it between two fingers and examined it the way a man examines something he already understands completely.
"This is a Hargrove piece," he said quietly.
"Custom cut.
Single stone.
Insured, I'd imagine, for somewhere close to a million and a half."
He looked up at Chloe.
"Would that be accurate?"
Chloe's mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
It was Eleanor who stepped forward.
"That ring belongs to my daughter.
It was stolen from her tonight by—"
"By the woman on the security footage." My father's voice didn't rise.
"Yes.
We've established that."
He stood and handed the ring to one of his security men, who sealed it immediately in a small evidence bag he had apparently brought for exactly this purpose.
"You can't just take that," Eleanor said.
"That's our property."
"It's evidence," my father said.
"The police will be here in approximately four minutes.
You're welcome to explain your position to them."
Chloe turned to Amanda.
Her voice dropped to something sharp and low.
"What did you do?"
Amanda's chin was trembling.
"Chloe, I can explain—"
"You took it." Chloe stepped toward her.
"You actually took it off my finger while we were dancing and you let me accuse—" She stopped.
Turned.
Looked at me for the first time without contempt.
Something else was there instead.
Something she didn't know what to do with.
I didn't help her find the words.
My father came to stand beside me.
He looked at my torn dress.
His jaw tightened once, then released.
"Are you all right?" he asked quietly.
"I'm fine."
"The baby?"
"Fine."
He nodded.
That was enough for both of us.
Dominic appeared at the edge of my vision.
He had worked his way through the crowd and was standing close enough to touch my arm, but he didn't.
"Vivienne." His voice was careful.
"I didn't know your father—"
"I know you didn't."
"If I had known who he was, I never would have—"
"I know that too." I looked at him.
"That's the problem, Dominic.
You would have treated me differently if you'd known.
That tells me everything I needed to know about why you treated me the way you did."
He didn't have an answer for that.
The ballroom doors opened again.
Two uniformed officers and a plainclothes detective entered and walked directly to my father, who shook the detective's hand with the ease of someone who had met him before.
"Gerald." The detective nodded.
"Got your call."
"Thank you for coming quickly." My father gestured toward Amanda.
"The individual in question.
The footage is already queued on the east corridor system.
My team will give you full access."
Amanda sat down heavily in the nearest chair.
Her evening bag was still on the floor where it had fallen.
She didn't look at Chloe.
She didn't look at anyone.
Eleanor had gone very quiet.
That was when I noticed she had moved closer to the exit.
Not obviously.
Just a few careful steps while everyone's attention was on Amanda and the detective.
I watched her reach into her own evening bag.
She pulled out her phone.
Her fingers moved fast.
I looked at my father's security man nearest the door.
He was already watching her.
"Who is she calling?" I asked my father quietly.
He glanced over.
"Someone she thinks can still fix this."
"Can they?"
He was quiet for a moment.
"That depends on what she told them before tonight."
The detective was speaking to Amanda now in a low, professional voice.
Amanda had started crying.
The kind of crying that isn't performance — shoulders forward, face down, no concern for how it looked.
Chloe stood three feet away from her cousin and did not comfort her.
That told me something about Chloe I hadn't known before.
Eleanor finished her call.
She slipped her phone back into her bag and straightened her posture and turned back toward the room with an expression I recognized.
It was the expression of a woman who believed she had just solved the problem.
My father saw it too.
"Whatever she just arranged," he said softly, "she doesn't know we've been building this file for eight months."
I turned to look at him.
"Eight months?"
May you like
He met my eyes.
"Did you think I wasn't paying attention?"
