CHAPTER 7 — THE CAMERA ABOVE THE APPRAISAL DESK
Derek’s last hope was the old accusation.
He returned to it because old lies feel safer than new ones.
“Marina had motive,” he told the insurance investigator that afternoon. “She was angry about her mother’s trust. She wanted control. She had workshop access.”
The investigator, a woman named Dana Price, listened without blinking.
Then she asked a question Derek had not prepared for.
“Who had access after Ms. Hale was removed?”
Derek hesitated.
Vivienne looked at him.
Noah answered.
“Derek Vale. Vivienne Cross. Myself. Rosa Medina. Two bench jewelers. Security.”
Dana asked, “Were cameras operating?”
Derek said, “The workshop cameras were down.”
Noah said, “The workshop cameras were down. The appraisal desk camera was not.”
Derek turned.
A small black lens sat above the private appraisal table, angled toward any piece brought under blue light. My mother had installed it after a client claimed a diamond had been swapped during cleaning.
I had forgotten.
Derek had forgotten.
The camera had not.
Noah pulled the archive.
The footage did not show everything.
Good evidence rarely does.
It showed enough.
A year after my removal, Derek entered the appraisal room with the Marlowe Star in a gray tray. Vivienne entered behind him, wearing the same gold collar necklace as today. Derek opened the clasp incorrectly. The hinge resisted. He forced it.
Under the light, a scratch appeared.
Then Vivienne handed him a small packet from another atelier.
Burgundy lacquer seal.
The room watched in silence.
On the footage, Derek said, “Once Marina signs away residual design rights, nobody will care which stones were original.”
Vivienne’s voice answered, “Then make sure she never gets near the case.”
Vivienne closed her eyes.
I did not look away.
She had known enough.
Maybe not all.
Enough.
Dana Price stopped the video.
Derek said, “That footage is privileged.”
May you like
Dana looked at him.
“No. It is incriminating. People confuse those when they’re frightened.”
