“Financial misconduct,” she said at last. “Your father and our counsel at the time, Damian Sloane, were restructuring foundation money. Sylvia believed records were being hidden.”
Nathaniel went white. “My father?”
“I said she believed. I never knew how much was true.”
“You fired her.”
“No,” Eleanor said. “Your father did.”
Rose asked, “What happened to her?”
Eleanor’s throat worked. “She left New York. Two years later she died.”
Nathaniel stared at the carpet.
Rose understood, then, why Victoria had hidden a packet under her dress and risked everything for a necklace in the middle of her own wedding. This had not been sudden madness. It had been a mission wearing white satin.
A knock sounded at the door. Damian Sloane entered without waiting.
He was sixty, silver-haired, impeccably tailored, with the serene expression of a man who believed calm itself was a weapon. Callaway Hotels’ longtime chief counsel and de facto fixer.
“I’ve spoken to security,” he said. “Victoria appears to have left through the service level. There’s no sign of the pendant.”
His gaze settled on Rose’s bruised cheek, then moved away a fraction too quickly.
“We need to control the narrative immediately,” he continued. “For now, the wedding is postponed due to a private health emergency.”
Nathaniel laughed bitterly. “Private?”
“It will be if we act swiftly.”
Rose saw Eleanor stiffen. Damian had not asked whether she was hurt. Had not asked whether Rose was all right. He had come to contain, not to care.
“Mr. Sloane,” Rose said, “did Victoria know about the key?”
All three turned to her.
Damian’s expression did not change. “Key?”
“The one hidden in the pendant,” Rose said.
Nathaniel stared at him.
For the first time that evening, Damian blinked.
“I wasn’t aware of any such thing,” he said carefully.
Eleanor’s voice was soft as paper. “That makes two of us, Damian.”
He looked at her, and Rose caught it—a flash of something cold behind the polished legal concern.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
Nathaniel saw it too. Rose knew he did because his shoulders pulled tight.
Damian cleared his throat. “Rose, perhaps you should rest.”
“I’m fine.”
“Nevertheless, from this point forward, all staff will refrain from discussing tonight’s events.”
Rose met his gaze. “I’m staff?”
“If the word offends you—”
“It doesn’t offend me,” Rose said. “It tells me where you think I belong.”
Eleanor’s lips curved almost imperceptibly.
Damian ignored it. “This family is in crisis.”
Nathaniel turned toward him slowly. “Then maybe stop talking to the only person in this room who actually protected us like she’s disposable.”
The silence after that felt expensive.
Damian inclined his head. “Of course.”
He withdrew.
The door closed.
Eleanor let out a breath. “Good.”
Nathaniel looked at her. “Good?”
“He is afraid.”
“Of what?”
Eleanor touched the broken necklace bag again.
“Of whatever Sylvia found.”
Rose looked toward the dark hallway where Victoria had vanished.
She thought of the hidden packet beneath the torn wedding dress. The shifted wig. The desperate violence.
Then she thought of Damian’s face when she mentioned the key.
The bride had not come to the ballroom for jewelry.
May you like
She had come for leverage.
And somebody else in the Callaway family had just realized she almost got it.
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