Marco turned the computer toward Alessandro. The garage clip had been copied in two formats, and the second contained several seconds that the first hadn’t shown. On the screen, after Vincent and Isabella walked away, the man with the tool case reappeared alone. He crouched beside the front of Alessandro’s sedan. His face turned toward the security camera. A scar ran from his left temple into his hairline.
“Can you identify him?” Alessandro asked Vincent.
“I don’t recognize him.”
“Then you won’t mind if I ask the mechanic who used to service my cars.”
“The garage manager resigned months ago,” Marco said quietly.
I saw Alessandro absorb that detail without speaking.
The receipt image was sharper than the clip. A payment for forty-eight thousand dollars had gone from a company called North Quay Advisory to an automotive contractor named Elias Voss. The description read CONSULTING. The date was the night before the crash.
Vincent studied the screen. “A receipt can be made on any computer.”
“So can a wedding invitation,” Alessandro said. “The question is who sent it.”
Isabella looked over her shoulder at the guests, as though searching for a friendly face. None volunteered one.
I had never seen her look small before. She still wore diamonds, still stood beneath chandeliers worth more than my apartment building, but every time the computer chimed, she flinched.
At last Alessandro turned to me. “Rosa, start from the beginning. Not for the room. For me.”
I told him how David had approached me, how Vincent had appeared, how Isabella had caught me near the corridor, and how she’d thrown me into a damaged display cabinet. My breathing became uneven when I described her mentioning Lily.
“What exactly did she say about your daughter?” Alessandro asked.
I repeated it. A guest behind me whispered something angry. I wished he wouldn’t. This was no longer a story about a rich woman behaving cruelly to a maid. Isabella had used the name of the person I loved most.
“Where is Lily now?” Alessandro asked.
“With Teresa. She’s safe.”
“Call her. Ask Teresa not to open the door to strangers. Marco will arrange protection with your permission.”
I took out my phone. My thumb left a faint red mark on the screen. Teresa answered on the second ring. I could hear Lily singing a song about a blue moon in the background, making up half the words.
I wanted to cry so badly I had to lean against Mrs. Alvarez.
When I ended the call, I saw that Marco had returned with two guards. He was carrying David’s empty camera case.
“We found this in the service elevator,” he said. “No sign of David yet. His phone is off.”
“Have local police informed?” Alessandro asked.
“Yes. They’re on the way.”
Vincent’s gaze jumped to the camera case. For the first time I noticed that he had stopped asking for the party to continue.
Isabella approached Alessandro’s chair. “Please. We’re married now. We should handle whatever this is between us.”
He studied the ring on his left hand. The ceremony had been that morning, with white flowers, classical music, and vows I had helped arrange. He slid the ring off slowly and set it beside the untouched wedding cake.
“Being married doesn’t make your questions less serious,” he said. “It makes the answers more important.”
She reached for his hand. He moved it to the armrest.
“I knew you’d turn against me,” she whispered.
“No,” he replied. “You counted on me never looking behind the picture.”
The paramedics entered through the side door. They checked my bleeding wound and gently helped me to a stretcher. I hated how the guests watched. I hated that my legs shook when I tried to stand. But one elderly guest stepped forward and tucked the loose edge of my uniform around me, shielding my torn back from the room.
“My name is Evelyn Park,” she said. “I was a nurse before I retired. You were brave, dear, but you don’t have to be brave every minute.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
As they prepared to move me, Alessandro asked Marco to send a copy of the footage directly to detectives and preserve the original card in a sealed evidence bag. No one would clean the broken frame until it was photographed. I heard him dictate every instruction, careful and exact.
Then he called to me.
“Rosa.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Why didn’t David bring the card to me himself?”
Je repensai au visage pâle du photographe, à la façon dont il n’arrêtait pas de regarder au fond du couloir de service. « Il a dit que vos visiteurs étaient contrôlés. Il pensait que son matériel serait fouillé. »
Alessandro fronça les sourcils. « Par qui ? »
