“What if I want a lawyer?” he asked.
“You could, however, as I said, you’re not being arrested just yet,” I told him.
The word yet landed. His smile thinned, though he covered it quickly, straightening his jacket as if this were an inconvenience rather than a turning point.
“Of course,” he said. “Whatever you need.”
I watched the other officer escort him away, his posture loose, cooperative, already crafting the version of himself he intended to present if anyone asked. I waited until he was out of sight before turning my attention fully to the problem in front of me.
Carly stood nearby, arms folded tightly across her torso, her face pale beneath the glow of the chandeliers. She was holding herself together through force of will alone.
“We’re going to find it,” I said quietly.
She nodded once. “I know. I just… this can’t turn into a spectacle. The Hale family has a reputation to uphold.”
“I understand. I put up extra cameras and we are going to get to the bottom of this,” I said, and this time it wasn’t reassurance, it was certainty.
“You put up extra cameras? Who authorized that?” Carly wanted to know.
“I did, through the department with the belief that the same person who took money from the Bennets would likely try again from you,” I mentioned. “If you will excuse me.”
I went down the hall toward the monitoring room, the sound of the gala dulling behind me with each step. Screens lined the walls, each one capturing a different angle of the night in progress.
The donation cart filled one of the central monitors.
It sat exactly where it was supposed to. Near the ballroom entrance. Draped neatly with cloth. Guarded by a rotating member of the security team.
At first glance, there was nothing wrong.
“That’s what I don’t understand,” the head of security said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “The box was never unattended. Someone was always nearby.”
“Start from the beginning,” I said. “Slow it down.”
The footage rewound. Guests arriving. Staff moving through with trays. The cart was visible in the background of nearly every frame, a constant presence. Security members stepped in and out, exchanging brief words, checking radios, alert but relaxed.
Wickham appeared several times.
Always casually. Always within the normal flow of the event. He spoke to donors. He laughed at someone’s joke, accepteda drink from the staff, and he passed the cart more than once without stopping.
I leaned closer to the screen.
“Pause there,” I said.
The image froze on a moment that looked insignificant at first. Gavin mid-step. One hand extended slightly, palm open.
“What happened next,” I asked.
The footage resumed.
He bumped the cart.
Just barely. Enough to register. The security member closest to it turned instinctively, looking around and seeing nothing wrong as the box was there. Gavin smiled, said something I couldn’t hear, and lingered.
“Back it up,” I said.
Frame by frame now. The head of security adjusted the playback speed, and the room grew quiet except for the soft clicking of controls.
Gavin’s hand brushed the edge of the cloth as he continued to chat with the member of the security team who was tasked with guarding the box. His body angled slightly, blocking the view from the camera mounted higher on the wall. He leaned in, speaking to the security member, charming and distracting her.
