Chapter 4 - THE PARTY WHERE EVERYONE LIED
The next morning, Paige learned two things that made her furious. The first was that the number sending the photographs could not be traced beyond a disposable account. The second was that Gabriel had already asked his people to search records concerning her mother's death without telling her.
"You don't get to investigate my family behind my back," she told him in front of Mara and Evelyn.
Gabriel stood on the opposite side of the library table, his coffee untouched. "I thought I was protecting you."
"Colin said that every time he read my messages."
The words struck harder than she intended. Gabriel's jaw tightened. For one terrible second she expected an explosion. Then he pushed the folder toward her.
"You're right. I should have asked. You can decide whether to look."
He left the room. Paige didn't chase him or apologize. She was tired of being the person responsible for repairing everyone else's discomfort after she set a boundary.
Inside the folder was a copy of her mother's death certificate. Ellen Mercer had died at forty-three from complications following a stroke. That was how Paige remembered it: a hospital corridor smelling of disinfectant, Arthur clutching her hand, doctors speaking too quietly. The record itself matched the story. Nothing suggested an accident at a lake.
But there was a second document: an incorporation record for Bellmont's earliest predecessor, dated fifteen years before the wedding. Ellen Mercer was listed as a founding trustee.
Paige sat down hard.
"My mother knew Richard," she said.
Evelyn turned the paper to read the registry details. "Being a trustee isn't proof that she knew about later wrongdoing. The organization may have changed."
"Arthur told me she never touched his business. He said she hated everything about finance."
"Maybe she hated what it became," Evelyn answered.
Paige thought of the small tin box her mother had kept beneath the kitchen sink, full of old keys, grocery coupons, and postcards from places she'd wanted to see. After the funeral Arthur had cleared out her belongings in a single afternoon. He said grief was easier in a tidy house. Paige suddenly wanted to know what had been in that tin.
By afternoon, their investigation had a narrow, frustrating shape. Nadia's office had accepted the initial evidence through counsel and was reviewing an application for action at Saint Alder. Elena Ruiz was recovering under independent medical supervision. June remained missing. Richard Whitmore still gave interviews about generosity and civic responsibility.
Then Mara brought up an invitation on her laptop.
"Bellmont's annual benefit is tonight," she said. "Whitmore Grand Hotel, downtown. Richard, Colin, Arthur, and half the foundation's board will be there. The press is covering the scholarship announcement."
Gabriel, who had returned to discuss the next steps, said, "You're not going."
Paige looked up slowly.
He corrected himself. "I think going is dangerous."
"Better."
"Not much better," he muttered.
"I don't want to confront them with a stolen document in a dark hallway," Paige said. "I want to walk into a room where they're pretending nothing happened and remind them I have a voice."
Evelyn considered the invitation. "Public appearances can create pressure, but you're also a witness. You don't discuss evidence, and you leave immediately if someone threatens you. We can make arrangements. No private meetings."
Paige agreed. Gabriel looked unhappy, but he didn't try to stop her.
She borrowed a simple black dress from Helen. It fit without force. She chose flat shoes, tied her hair back, and took her own driver's license from the replacement documents Evelyn had helped obtain. Before leaving she looked at herself in the mirror. No veil. No collar pulled up to hide a bruise. No one had told her to smile.
At the hotel, camera flashes ricocheted off the marble lobby. Staff in white jackets carried trays of champagne. A string quartet played near a fountain filled with floating candles. Paige remembered attending events like this beside Colin, moving through wealthy conversations as a decorative extension of his arm. Tonight she arrived with Evelyn on one side and Gabriel several steps behind, careful enough to let her set the pace.
The room noticed her in waves.
A woman near the entrance gasped. A waiter froze midstep. Phones appeared from handbags. Paige could feel the story rearranging itself in strangers' eyes: the bride who fled the altar had returned, not broken, not hidden, and not on Colin's arm.
Richard approached with the practiced delight of a man trained to greet the camera before the person. "Paige, sweetheart. We've been so worried."
"That's interesting," Paige answered. "I haven't received a single message asking whether I'm safe."
His smile held. "These are private family matters."
"You made them public when you invited three hundred guests to watch your son marry a woman who'd told him no."
A nearby conversation died. Richard's smile thinned. He glanced past her toward Gabriel and then back.
"You should know that man isn't your friend."
"I'm not asking you to choose my friends."
"I knew your mother," he said softly. "She'd be devastated to see you here with him."
Paige felt her pulse quicken. "Then perhaps you can tell me what she was doing with Bellmont fifteen years ago."
For the first time, Richard lost control of his expression. It lasted less than a heartbeat, but Paige saw it. Fear—not guilt, not sadness. Fear that a carefully buried fact had surfaced.
"You have no idea what your mother agreed to," he said.
"That's why I'm asking."
Before he could reply, a photographer called his name. Richard adjusted his jacket, lowered his voice, and said, "Not here."
"Especially here," Paige answered.
He walked away without another word.
Colin found her thirty minutes later beside a display of scholarship photographs. He wore a dark suit and a narrow bandage above his hairline, visible beneath carefully combed blond hair. The bruise at his throat had turned yellow-green. He looked less like a prince than a man who had discovered the audience might stop applauding.
"You embarrassed me," he said without greeting.
Paige remained by the display, aware of Evelyn talking to a reporter ten feet away. "You hurt me. Those aren't the same thing."
He laughed under his breath. "You think Rossy wants you? You think he's different? He used you to get to my father."
"He told me that himself."
The answer startled him. His eyes narrowed. "You always were good at pretending to be independent."
"You always mistook silence for agreement."
His hand twitched toward her wrist, then stopped. He'd noticed the security personnel along the walls, the guests with their phones, and the distance between his anger and the privacy he preferred. Paige stepped back anyway. Not from shame. Because she could.
A woman carrying a stack of event programs brushed past her shoulder and slipped a folded card into her hand. Paige caught a glimpse of dark curls and a small scar beneath the woman's ear.
"Service stairwell. Ten minutes," the woman whispered. "Tell your lawyer."
Paige opened the card only after Colin had walked away. The message was written in block letters: I WAS AT SAINT ALDER. JUNE IS ALIVE.
She brought it straight to Evelyn. They agreed that Paige would not go alone. Gabriel organized a discreet escort; Evelyn insisted a hotel manager accompany them. On the service landing they found the woman waiting with her programs stacked on a radiator.
"My name is Ana Finch," she said. "I worked at the retreat until three weeks ago. I left when I realized the education program was a holding place for people Richard didn't want talking. June helped us contact our families. They punished her for it."
"Where is she now?" Paige asked.
"I don't know the exact room. They move residents when there's an inspection. But I took copies of intake logs. June is listed under another name."
Ana reached into her purse. Something slammed in the stairwell below. A man shouted that there was smoke in the kitchen. The fire alarm began to wail.
Ana's face drained. "That's what happened last time I tried to leave with records."
Gabriel's security man opened the door to the hall. Smoke rolled beneath the ceiling, too thick to have come from a kitchen accident. Guests rushed toward the elevators despite the alarm. A woman stumbled. Glass broke in the ballroom.
"Move," Evelyn ordered.
Paige caught Ana's hand. Together they followed the marked exit toward the lobby. Halfway down, a masked man stepped out of the smoke and seized Ana's purse. She screamed. Paige struck his wrist with the metal handrail bracket she'd grabbed while steadying herself. The man cursed, dropped the purse, and fled toward a service door as Gabriel's guard moved after him.
They made it into the fresh air with the rest of the crowd. Fire engines were arriving. Hotel staff shouted directions. Paige stood beneath a streetlight, coughing, and watched Ana empty the purse. Her wallet was gone. So was her phone. But a folded sheet had survived inside the lining.
It contained a list of residents' temporary names. June Bell's line read CAROLINE HART — TRANSFER PENDING.
Below the list, someone had written a date: TOMORROW.
"They'll move her before the investigators arrive," Ana whispered.
Paige turned toward Gabriel. He was staring not at the paper but at his own security man, who had reappeared from the smoke without the attacker.
"The stairwell door was supposed to be covered," Gabriel said quietly.
The man looked away.
May you like
In that moment Paige understood the night's most frightening discovery. Richard had known their exact meeting place, at the exact time they were there.
Someone inside Gabriel's circle was telling him where to look.
