CHAPTER 3 THE MISSING NECKLACE
Brenda did not make it far.
She reached the parking garage before two security officers stopped her beside Andrew’s Bentley.
Her purse fell from her shoulder.
Its contents spilled across the concrete.
Lipstick.
A hotel key.
Two phones.
And one green velvet pouch.
Margaret saw it first.
“My necklace.”
Brenda froze.
Andrew turned toward her slowly.
“No.”
She stepped back.
“Andrew, listen to me.”
He snatched the pouch and opened it.
Inside lay the emerald necklace.
The same necklace I had been accused of stealing.
The same necklace he had struck me over.
Margaret’s face went white.
“You put it in Mariana’s room?” Andrew asked.
Brenda began crying.
Real tears this time.
“I only wanted your mother to see what Mariana really was.”
“She didn’t steal it.”
“I was going to return it.”
Andrew laughed once.
It was a broken, disbelieving sound.
“You let me hit my wife.”
Brenda’s face sharpened.
“I didn’t make you do anything.”
That sentence landed harder than any accusation.
Because it was true.
She had lied.
But Andrew had chosen violence.
He had enjoyed the authority of it.
I stood several feet away.
Andrew looked at me.
“Mariana…”
I raised one hand.
“Don’t.”
He stepped forward.
“I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“I was angry.”
“You were cruel.”
Margaret clutched the necklace.
“I may have misjudged the situation.”
I looked at her.
“You called me trash while your son hit me.”
Her lips tightened.
“This is still a family matter.”
My father stepped forward.
“No,” Rafael said.
“It became a legal matter the moment he touched her.”
Andrew stared at him.
“You can’t take my company.”
Rafael’s eyes were cold.
“It was never yours.”
Andrew turned back to me.
“Tell him.”
“I already did.”
The investigators escorted Brenda upstairs.
Andrew tried to follow.
Security stopped him.
I walked toward the elevator.
He called my name.
“Mariana, wait.”
The doors began to close.
He rushed forward.
“I love you.”
For one second, I saw the man he had once been.
Then I remembered his hand.
The doors shut between us.
Inside the elevator, my lawyer handed me another file.
“There’s more,” Evelyn Ross said.
“What?”
“The company transfers weren’t Brenda’s idea.”
I opened the file.
Every fraudulent payment had been approved using Andrew’s credentials.
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But the destination accounts carried a third name.
Margaret Whitmore.
