Chapter 4 - The Dress That Was Never Really Stained
Emergency lights flickered on.
For half a second, everybody became shadows.
Then Roman caught my arm.
“Elena, stay here.”
“No.”
The scream had come from upstairs.
Female.
Young.
Camille.
I knew her voice now.
Roman knew arguing would waste time.
We moved.
Police officers had just entered the ballroom when the lights failed. Flashlights swept across marble walls.
One officer called for everyone to stay where they were.
Nobody listened perfectly.
People never do.
I ran toward the stairs with Roman beside me.
Adrian was ahead of us.
That frightened me more than if he had stayed behind.
“Camille!”
No answer.
We reached the second floor.
Her bedroom door stood open.
The laptop was gone.
So was Camille.
Lorraine appeared behind us.
“Camille?”
She sounded genuinely terrified.
For the first time that night, I felt something close to sympathy for her.
Roman checked the hallway.
A side door leading toward the guest wing swung slowly.
“Camille!”
A faint voice answered.
“Here.”
We followed.
She stood inside a linen room, shaking.
But unharmed.
A man in a dark maintenance uniform crouched near an electrical panel.
Two police officers moved toward him.
“Hands where we can see them.”
He raised both hands.
“I work here.”
Camille pointed.
“He tried to take the drive.”
Roman looked at her.
“You still have a copy?”
She reached inside her dress and removed a small memory card.
Apparently my sister-in-law learned quickly.
“I switched it before we left my room.”
For the first time all night, Roman smiled.
“Good.”
The maintenance man protested.
“Mr. Moretti told me there was confidential company property—”
Every flashlight turned toward Adrian.
He had reached the doorway.
“I told you to shut down the security system,” Adrian said.
The man blinked.
“No, sir. You said cut power to the east wing and retrieve the computer.”
Silence.
Adrian stared at him.
A perfect example of what happened when powerful people assumed employees would lie for them.
The officer asked, “Your name?”
“Elliot Crane.”
“Who instructed you?”
He pointed directly at Adrian.
“Him.”
Adrian's shoulders lowered slightly.
Not surrender.
Calculation again.
I was starting to hate that look.
Sarah appeared carrying Derek's overnight envelope.
“Officers need to speak with Mr. Walsh too.”
Derek had been taken to the library and evaluated by paramedics.
He refused transport until he spoke to police.
Adrian looked toward the staircase.
“You're all turning a family disagreement into a circus.”
Camille stared at him.
“You locked Derek in a closet.”
“I did not.”
Derek's voice floated from downstairs.
“Yes, you did.”
Everyone went quiet.
A police officer led him toward the staircase.
He had a blanket around his shoulders.
His hands were free.
He looked frightened but determined.
“Not personally,” Derek said. “He had Elliot do it.”
Elliot's face changed.
“That wasn't me.”
Interesting.
Derek pointed at Adrian.
“Then someone else.”
Adrian laughed once.
“This is insane.”
Roman looked toward the officer.
“Can Elena and I speak with Derek while you're present?”
The officer agreed.
We returned to the ballroom.
Most guests had now been asked for contact information.
The party was over.
The cake remained.
Champagne was going flat.
White roses stood beneath chandeliers that had just flickered back to life.
Everything looked strangely beautiful.
Like the room didn't care what people had done inside it.
Derek sat.
I took the chair opposite him.
“How much did you know?”
His eyes dropped.
“Too much.”
“How long?”
“Eight months.”
I absorbed that.
“And you said nothing.”
“I tried.”
“To whom?”
“Camille.”
She stared at him.
“When?”
“Anonymous emails.”
Her mouth opened.
“The messages about the jewelry.”
He nodded.
That explained one anonymous source.
But not necessarily Sarah's package.
I leaned forward.
“Start at the beginning.”
Derek rubbed his palms together.
“Mr. Moretti hired me four years ago.”
“Adrian.”
“Yes.”
“Call him Adrian.”
Derek swallowed.
“Adrian brought me in originally to coordinate business accounts. At first everything was legitimate.”
“At first.”
“About eighteen months ago he asked me to reorganize several LLCs.”
Roman sat beside me.
“Names?”
Derek listed six.
Matteo immediately wrote them down.
One caught my attention.
“Violet Crown Holdings.”
Vivienne stiffened.
Derek looked at her.
“Yes.”
She whispered, “That's the apartment company.”
He nodded.
She sat down hard.
I asked, “Who owns it?”
Derek looked at me.
“You do.”
Vivienne stared.
“What?”
“Technically, Elena's trust owns seventy percent through a chain of entities.”
Roman closed his eyes.
Adrian had bought his mistress an apartment using my money while keeping the property indirectly mine.
Almost impressive.
Vivienne laughed shakily.
“You told me it was mine.”
Adrian said nothing.
Derek continued.
“Then he began moving money.”
“How much?”
“I don't know total.”
“Estimate.”
“Twenty million.”
My brothers exchanged glances.
“Over what period?”
“About fourteen months.”
“Where?”
“Some into development projects. Some into private accounts. Some to cover debts.”
“Whose debts?”
Derek's eyes moved toward Charles.
Adrian's father finally looked frightened.
Of course.
There it was.
The entire family.
Charles asked, “What are you implying?”
Derek answered quietly.
“Your construction company was insolvent.”
Lorraine turned toward her husband.
“What?”
Charles didn't answer.
Derek continued.
“Adrian used Elena's accounts to keep it operating.”
“How much?”
“Eleven point two million.”
Lorraine sank into a chair.
Charles muttered, “It was temporary.”
I looked at him.
“Did you know where the money came from?”
He hesitated.
“Yes.”
That was almost refreshing.
At least one person was finally admitting something.
I turned toward Lorraine.
“Your turn.”
She looked offended.
“My turn for what?”
“What did you receive?”
“Nothing.”
Derek coughed.
Everyone looked at him.
He rubbed his face.
“Mrs. Moretti's charity.”
Lorraine went still.
“What about it?”
“Three million dollars.”
Her mouth opened.
“That was a donation.”
“From Elena.”
“I was told Elena approved it.”
I looked at Adrian.
He shrugged.
“You always supported the foundation.”
Not three million dollars I hadn't authorized.
Roman asked Derek, “What about the competency petition?”
“That came later.”
“Why?”
“Because the trust protections kept rejecting transfers.”
Of course.
I stared at my husband.
It had never been about my supposed instability.
My stability was the obstacle.
“So you needed me incompetent.”
Adrian finally snapped.
“I needed cooperation.”
A dozen people heard him.
Sarah immediately looked at the recorder.
Still running.
Adrian saw it and closed his mouth.
Too late.
I almost smiled.
Derek continued.
“The trustee authorization tonight was supposed to be the easiest solution.”
“What if I refused to sign?”
He looked uncomfortable.
“The birthday party created witnesses.”
I felt cold.
“Witnesses to what?”
“To your behavior.”
I understood.
The stain.
Vivienne.
The public humiliation.
Everything.
“You wanted me to react.”
Derek nodded.
Adrian said, “That's a lie.”
But I was no longer listening to him.
I looked at Vivienne.
“The wine.”
She stared at me.
“What?”
“You said I stained your dress.”
“You did.”
“No.”
Memory replayed.
Vivienne passing beside me.
A server carrying red wine.
Her sudden gasp.
The glass on the floor.
Her accusation.
Adrian arriving instantly.
Too instantly.
I stood.
“Take off your dress.”
Vivienne's eyes widened.
“Excuse me?”
“Not here.”
I gestured toward the powder room.
“Sarah can come. Camille too.”
Adrian barked, “This is ridiculous.”
That made me more certain.
Vivienne slowly stood.
Five minutes later, we were inside the powder room with the door closed.
Vivienne changed into a robe supplied by a staff member.
Sarah placed the purple gown on a countertop.
The stain looked ordinary.
Red wine on silk.
Then Camille touched it.
“This fabric has been treated.”
Sarah looked closer.
“With what?”
“I worked in fashion before joining the family company,” Camille said. “Wine should spread differently.”
She wet a white towel.
Pressed.
Nothing transferred.
Vivienne frowned.
“That's strange.”
Camille smelled the fabric.
Then looked at me.
“This isn't wine.”
My stomach tightened.
“What is it?”
“I don't know. Fabric dye, maybe.”
Sarah photographed everything.
Vivienne looked horrified.
“I didn't do that.”
I believed she believed that.
“When did you put on the dress?”
“Here.”
“What?”
“Adrian had it delivered to the guest suite this afternoon.”
That answered everything.
The stain was already prepared.
Or designed to appear instantly.
I looked toward the door.
Vivienne whispered, “He told me to bump into you near the champagne tower.”
My eyes returned to hers.
“So you were part of it.”
“Not this.”
“You falsely accused me.”
“He said he wanted to embarrass you.”
“And that was acceptable?”
She cried.
Not theatrically.
Quietly.
“No.”
“But you did it.”
“Yes.”
At least she admitted it.
I picked up the gown.
Something metallic clicked against the countertop.
The broken silver bracelet.
I had carried it upstairs without realizing.
Camille picked it up.
“Where did this come from?”
“Beside the cake.”
She examined it.
“This isn't Vivienne's.”
Vivienne shook her head.
“I've never seen it.”
That surprised me.
The engraving.
V.
I had assumed Vivienne.
Camille turned the clasp.
“No. Look.”
Inside, beneath the V, was another marking.
A tiny serial number.
Sarah photographed it.
“Could be custom jewelry.”
Camille's expression changed.
“I've seen this before.”
“Where?”
She stared at the bracelet.
“On Derek.”
I frowned.
“He wears a women's bracelet?”
“No.”
She turned it over.
“His wife does.”
Derek's wife.
Vanessa Walsh.
I had met her twice.
Quiet.
Dark-haired.
Worked in forensic accounting.
My pulse quickened.
“Why would her bracelet be beside my cake?”
Nobody answered.
Then Vivienne whispered:
“Maybe Vanessa was here.”
Camille shook her head.
“I never saw her.”
Sarah was already typing into her phone.
“I’m going to ask Derek.”
We returned to the ballroom.
Derek saw the bracelet.
All color disappeared from his face.
“Where did you get that?”
“Beside my cake.”
He stood so quickly the chair fell backward.
“Vanessa.”
Roman stepped closer.
“What about her?”
Derek grabbed his phone.
Still no service after police had taken it for documentation.
He turned to an officer.
“I need to call my wife.”
The officer handed him a phone.
Derek dialed.
Waited.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
“Where is she?” I asked.
“At work, supposedly.”
“What does she do?”
“Forensic accounting.”
Roman's eyes sharpened.
“For whom?”
Derek looked at him.
“Meridian Crown Trust.”
My family's bank.
The same bank that had flagged the forged transfer.
Everything suddenly connected.
Maybe Vanessa had discovered Adrian.
Maybe she had warned the bank.
Maybe she sent Sarah the files.
Derek dialed again.
Voicemail.
His breathing changed.
“She always answers.”
I looked at the bracelet.
The broken clasp.
The serial number.
The place where it had been found.
Beside my birthday cake.
Not hidden.
Placed.
A message.
Then Sarah's phone rang.
She answered.
Listened.
Her face changed.
“Where?”
Everyone stopped talking.
She looked at me.
“That was Meridian Crown security.”
I stood.
“What happened?”
“Vanessa Walsh entered the bank's archival system at 4:13 this afternoon.”
Derek whispered, “She wasn't supposed to be working today.”
Sarah continued.
“She downloaded one file.”
“What file?”
Sarah stared at me.
“A trust amendment your father signed eleven years ago.”
My heartbeat slowed.
“What amendment?”
“They don't know. The digital copy is incomplete.”
Derek grabbed the table.
Sarah continued.
“But immediately afterward, Vanessa sent herself an encrypted document and left the building.”
“Where did she go?”
“Nobody knows.”
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number again.
This time, the message contained an address.
Derek saw it.
His face went white.
“I know that place.”
“Where is it?”
He looked toward Adrian.
“A storage facility Adrian uses.”
Another message appeared beneath the address.
Only six words.
THE ORIGINAL IS IN UNIT 317.
Roman picked up his coat.
“We're going.”
Adrian suddenly said:
“No.”
Everyone turned.
He hadn't reacted that strongly to police.
Or the forged transfer.
Or the hidden camera.
But Unit 317 terrified him.
I looked at Roman.
Then back at my husband.
“What is in Unit 317?”
Adrian said nothing.
I moved toward the door.
He spoke again.
“Elena.”
I stopped.
His voice had changed.
No arrogance.
No command.
Fear.
“Please don't open that unit.”
I turned slowly.
“Why?”
He looked at me for several seconds.
May you like
Then said the one thing I had not expected.
“Because your father put something there before he died.”
