Chapter 4: What Happened to the Last Person
I didn't ask Diane in front of Preston.
I asked her ten minutes later, in the narrow corridor outside the ballroom, while Sophie sat on a cushioned bench between us eating a bread roll that one of the waitstaff had brought her without being asked.
The young woman — barely twenty, name tag reading *Priya* — had also brought a small first aid kit and helped me clean the cut on Sophie's temple with a gentleness that made my throat tighten.
"It's not deep," Priya said softly.
"But she should still see a doctor."
"Thank you." I meant it more than the words could carry.
Priya nodded and slipped back inside.
I turned to Diane.
"Tell me."
Diane set her handbag on her knees.
"A woman named Carol Marsh.
She was a bookkeeper for one of Hale's property subsidiaries.
Three years ago she found irregularities in the accounts — money being moved in patterns that didn't match any legitimate transaction.
She compiled everything.
Took it to a solicitor."
"And?"
"Within a week, she was served with a defamation suit.
Hale's legal team filed it before she could file anything herself.
The suit claimed she had fabricated the records to extort the company." Diane paused.
"She didn't have the resources to fight it.
She withdrew everything.
Signed a non-disclosure agreement as part of the settlement."
"He buried it."
"Completely." Diane looked at her hands.
"I knew about it because the case came through a colleague of mine — retired now.
He told me privately.
There was nothing either of us could do at that point.
Carol had already signed."
Sophie had finished her bread roll.
She was leaning against my arm, eyes half-closed, the tiredness of shock settling into her small body.
"Why was he at this wedding?" I asked.
"The groom — Daniel Whitmore — his family has been in business with Hale Property Group for years.
Commercial real estate.
Preston Hale attends every Whitmore family event.
He considers it a relationship worth maintaining."
"And the brooch?"
Diane was quiet for a moment.
"I don't know.
That I genuinely don't know.
Whether he intended to steal it or whether he simply panicked when he thought someone had seen him — I can't say."
"Sophie was the nearest child sitting alone."
"Yes."
I looked at the ballroom door.
Through the narrow window set into it I could see Preston standing near the gift table with two men I didn't recognize — both in dark suits, both with the particular stillness of people paid to be useful in difficult situations.
His lawyers.
Or something close to it.
Here within fifteen minutes.
"He came prepared," I said.
"He always comes prepared," Diane said.
My phone buzzed.
The police, confirming they were eight minutes away.
Eight minutes.
Preston's two men were looking at the security manager now.
One of them had placed a hand on the edge of the tablet.
I stood up.
"Stay with Sophie," I said to Diane.
"What are you going to do?"
"Make sure that footage doesn't go anywhere."
I pushed through the ballroom door before she could answer.
The room had rearranged itself in my absence — guests clustered in small groups, voices low, the wedding's original purpose entirely abandoned.
The bride, a pale young woman named Elise whom I had met only once before today, was sitting in the front row with her mother's arm around her, staring at nothing.
I crossed the room in twelve steps.
"Step away from the tablet," I said to the man with his hand on its edge.
He looked at me with the mild patience of someone who has never been told no by anyone who mattered.
"This device contains proprietary venue security data," he said.
"My client has retained us to ensure proper legal protocols are followed regarding its handling."
"Your client framed my eight-year-old daughter and h*t her with a board." I held out my hand.
"The tablet stays with venue staff until the police arrive.
That is the proper legal protocol."
"Ma'am—"
"I have the venue manager's direct line, the responding officer's name, and three years of compliance documentation experience." I didn't move my hand.
"Would you like to test which of us knows more about evidence preservation procedure?"
A long pause.
The security manager stepped forward and quietly took the tablet back.
Preston watched from across the room.
The thin smile was gone.
"You're going to regret this," he said.
Not loud.
Meant only for me.
"Maybe," I said.
"But right now I'm the one with the footage."
His eyes moved to the ballroom door — to the corridor beyond it, where Diane and Sophie were sitting.
Something shifted in his expression.
Not anger.
Something colder.
"Diane Collier," he said quietly.
May you like
"Retired magistrate.
Did she tell you what she's been investigated for?"
