Chapter 6 - SOMEONE INSIDE WAS HELPING THEM
The evidence breach changed everything.
Detective Morales locked down access to Sophie’s case.
Bell contacted Internal Affairs.
The jacket was tested again.
No useful prints.
Whoever removed it from evidence knew exactly what they were doing.
Then another problem appeared.
The hallway recording from the Whitmore Hotel vanished from the police evidence server.
The copy Martin had provided was gone.
Morales stared at her computer.
“That file was uploaded last night.”
Thomas asked the obvious question.
“Do you have another copy?”
Morales looked at me.
“I hope Martin does.”
He did.
Three copies.
One at the hotel.
One on an encrypted drive.
One with his attorney.
For the first time since the wedding, I smiled.
Preston had underestimated the wrong security director.
But my family was moving quickly.
By afternoon, their lawyers had begun rewriting the story publicly.
A statement appeared online.
It described the wedding as an “unfortunate family confrontation.”
Preston claimed he had accidentally injured Sophie while attempting to retrieve stolen property.
My parents claimed the security footage had been “selectively edited.”
Then they attacked me.
They said I had a history of emotional instability.
They said I had manipulated Sophie.
They said I had been obsessed with my grandfather’s estate.
None of it was true.
But truth wasn’t their first weapon.
Reputation was.
My phone filled with messages.
Reporters.
Coworkers.
Old friends.
Relatives.
Some believed me.
Some didn’t.
Then my school district called.
They were placing me on temporary administrative leave.
I stared at the phone after the call ended.
My family had framed my daughter.
Attacked her.
Stolen millions.
Possibly followed my husband before his death.
And somehow I was the one losing my job.
Madeline sat beside me.
“They’re trying to isolate you.”
“I know.”
“Preston does this.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“When somebody challenges him, he destroys their credibility first.”
“How many times?”
She didn’t answer.
That was answer enough.
“What else has he done?”
Madeline began crying.
Quietly.
“There was a woman.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who?”
“His former assistant.”
“What happened?”
“She accused him of attacking her.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“What happened to the case?”
“It disappeared.”
“How?”
“His father.”
My father.
Again.
“What was her name?”
“Rachel Kim.”
Morales immediately searched.
Rachel Kim had moved to Seattle.
No public phone number.
No social media.
But she was alive.
And when Morales contacted her attorney, Rachel agreed to talk.
Her story sounded painfully familiar.
Preston accused her of stealing company information.
Security found a flash drive in her purse.
Rachel insisted it had been planted.
Preston threatened her.
She tried to report him.
My father paid her employer.
Witnesses changed their statements.
Security footage disappeared.
The case collapsed.
Rachel lost her career.
She left Chicago.
Morales looked at me.
“This establishes a pattern.”
I shook my head.
“It establishes an education.”
“What do you mean?”
“Preston learned that framing people works.”
Because my parents had taught him.
Every time they erased consequences, they made him worse.
Every time they protected him, someone else paid.
Rachel.
Michael.
Sophie.
Me.
That evening, Thomas received confirmation from the bank.
Twenty-six million dollars had moved through Black Harbor Holdings.
But the final destination wasn’t overseas.
It was here.
Chicago.
The money had been used as collateral for a purchase.
“What purchase?”
I asked.
Thomas turned his laptop toward me.
Whitmore Hotel.
My father and Preston had been secretly attempting to buy the remaining shares.
Using my trust.
To purchase the hotel my grandfather had partly left to me.
I stared at the screen.
“They were buying my inheritance with my inheritance.”
Thomas nodded.
And then he found something worse.
The sale was scheduled to close the next morning.
At 9:00 a.m.
If it closed, unwinding the transaction could take years.
“We stop it.”
Thomas looked at me.
“We need a court order.”
“Then get one.”
“My attorneys are already preparing it.”
At 8:47 p.m., a judge agreed to hear our emergency petition.
At 8:53, the courthouse system showed the hearing scheduled for 7:30 the next morning.
At 9:02, Thomas received a message.
Hearing canceled.
No explanation.
Morales made a call.
Then another.
Her expression hardened.
“The judge didn’t cancel it.”
Thomas stared at her.
“Then who did?”
Morales looked at the screen.
“Someone logged into the court system using his clerk’s credentials.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Preston’s voice filled my ear.
“You should’ve left when Mom told you.”
I stood.
“Where are you?”
He laughed.
“You still think this is about where I am.”
“You hit my daughter.”
“And you’re going to spend the rest of your life wishing you had kept your mouth shut.”
I looked at Morales.
She was signaling Bell to trace the call.
“Are you threatening me?”
“No.”
Preston sounded amused.
“I’m explaining reality.”
“You’re going to prison.”
“Am I?”
He laughed again.
“Ask Detective Morales how many pieces of evidence have already disappeared.”
My blood went cold.
“How do you know that?”
Silence.
Then Preston whispered,
“Because you still haven’t figured out who’s helping us.”
The call ended.
Morales stared at my phone.
Then hers rang.
She answered.
Her face changed immediately.
“What?”
Bell stood.
“What happened?”
Morales slowly lowered the phone.
“Martin Alvarez is missing.”
The security director.
The man protecting the original recordings.
His car was found running behind the Whitmore Hotel.
The driver’s door was open.
May you like
His phone was on the pavement.
And the encrypted drive containing the only untouched copy of the hallway footage was gone.
