The first thing I saw wasn't my daughter.

Paula's office was on the fourteenth floor of a building downtown that had floor-to-ceiling windows and no artwork on the walls.

I had always thought lawyers who decorated heavily were trying to distract you from something.

Paula's walls were bare.

There was nothing to look at except the case.

She had a file already.

One day in and she had a file.

"Gareth's attorney made contact this morning," she said, sliding a single sheet across the desk.

"This is their opening position."

I read it.

It was brief.

An expression of regret for the incident.

A proposed private settlement.

A non-disclosure agreement.

A figure that was, I had to admit, not small.

"They want this buried," I said.

"Immediately.

The NDA would prevent you from discussing the incident with anyone — including, notably, the police." She folded her hands.

"I've already told them that's not a conversation we're having."

"Good."

"There's something else." She opened the file.

"Claire came to my office in person this morning.

Before I'd even arrived.

My assistant found her waiting in the lobby at eight fifteen."

I looked up.

"She didn't come with Gareth's attorney," Paula said.

"She came alone."

The door to Paula's private conference room opened.

Claire walked in.

She looked different from last night.

The wedding makeup was gone.

She was wearing a plain gray coat, no jewelry except her new wedding ring, and she looked like a woman who had spent the night making a decision she wasn't sure about yet.

"Marissa," she said.

"Claire."

She sat down across from me without being invited.

Paula remained standing near the window.

"I owe you an apology," Claire said.

"What I said to Nora last night — asking her where she put the rest of it — that was wrong.

I knew it was wrong when I said it.

I said it anyway because Gareth asked me to."

"He asked you to interrogate an eight-year-old."

"He said it would make her confess.

He said she'd taken his phone as a prank and hidden other things too and that if I pressed her she'd tell us where." She looked at her hands.

"I believed him.

I shouldn't have."

"Why are you here, Claire?"

She looked up.

"Because I watched that footage last night after everyone left.

Gareth didn't know I'd gotten a copy from Marcus before the police took the tablet.

I watched it three times." She paused.

"And then I went through his phone."

The room was very quiet.

"His actual phone," she said.

"The one he claimed was stolen."

"What did you find?"

She reached into her coat pocket and set a folded piece of paper on the table.

Paula moved forward and I put my hand out — not to stop her, but to take it myself.

I unfolded it.

It was a printed screenshot of a text conversation.

The other contact was saved as D.F.

*She'll be the focus.

Trust me.

Nobody will be looking at the money by Monday.*

*It needs to be convincing.*

*It will be.

I have the phone.

I'll handle the girl.*

The timestamp was two days before the wedding.

I set the paper down.

"He planned it two days out," I said.

"At least." Claire's voice was flat.

"There are more messages.

I've forwarded them to my own email.

I'll give them to your lawyer." She looked at Paula.

"I'll give them to the police too, if that's what this requires."

"It is," Paula said.

Claire nodded once.

She looked back at me.

"I didn't know about any of this before last night.

I need you to know that."

"I believe you," I said.

And I did, mostly.

But I also knew that Claire had crouched down to my daughter's level and pressed her for a confession she knew didn't exist, and that believing her now didn't erase that.

"What happens to Gareth?" she asked.

"That depends on what the police do with the footage and the messages," Paula said.

"And Farrell?"

Paula's expression didn't change.

"That's a separate matter."

Claire stood.

She smoothed her coat.

She looked at me one more time with an expression I couldn't entirely read — not guilt, not relief, something in between.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"For what it's worth."

"Take care of yourself, Claire."

She left.

The door closed behind her.

Paula picked up the printed screenshot with two fingers and slid it into a clear evidence sleeve.

"Well," she said.

"That changes the timeline considerably."

"He planned it before the wedding," I said.

"He sat at the rehearsal dinner with Nora on his lap and he already knew what he was going to do to her the next day."

"Yes."

I looked out the window at the city below.

Fourteen floors down, people were walking to work, buying coffee, living ordinary Tuesdays.

"Paula," I said.

"What does Dominic Farrell actually want from my brother?"

She was quiet for a moment.

"From what I've been able to establish — and this is preliminary — Farrell wants the loan repaid.

Approximately three hundred thousand dollars.

Gareth doesn't have it.

He was hoping the wedding would buy him time, because Claire's family has significant assets and he believed that once they were married, he'd have access to resources that would let him settle the debt quietly."

"And Farrell got impatient."

"Farrell got impatient," she confirmed.

"The text messages suggest Farrell was involved in shaping the plan.

The distraction at the wedding.

Keeping the family off-balance while Gareth negotiated more time."

"So Farrell used my daughter too."

Paula looked at me steadily.

"That's what the evidence suggests, yes."

My phone buzzed on the table between us.

A number I didn't recognize.

Not the same one as last night's text.

I answered it.