“They tied me there. They gave me water once. Maybe twice. I lost track.”
Her voice broke.
I turned away, not because I couldn’t look at her, but because I could not let Harper see what moved across my face.
Detective Penn asked a few more questions, then stopped when Dr. Reeves insisted. Mia was taken by ambulance to the hospital with Harper beside her. I arranged for Daniel and a female officer to accompany them. Harper refused to release my hand until I promised I would come later.
“You’ll find who hurt Mommy?” she whispered.
I knelt before her at the ambulance doors.
“Yes,” I said.
It was not a threat.
It was a vow.
When the ambulance left, I returned to the mansion and found Claire in the library with her attorney.
Nathan stood near the fireplace.
Of course he did.
For years, Nathan had belonged beside the fire in difficult moments. He had been there when my father died, when federal agents once searched our office, when I ended a partnership that could have started a war. He had always stood half in shadow, calm and loyal.
Now the shadow seemed less like position and more like choice.
Detective Penn entered behind me. “Miss Bennett, we’d like to ask you some questions.”
Claire looked at me first.
Not the detective.
Me.
“Dominic,” she said, “you know I would never hurt Mia.”
“I know what I want to believe.”
Pain flashed across her face. “That’s not the same.”
“No.”
Her attorney touched her arm. “Claire, let me handle this.”
She ignored him. “Harper misunderstood. Mia misunderstood. Someone is using my name because they knew you would doubt me.”
“Who?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Nathan approved the lock.”
Nathan’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I approved a lock on the cellar at Claire’s request because she said vendors had access during wedding preparation.”
Detective Penn turned to him. “And you didn’t find that unusual?”
“No. There are several million dollars’ worth of wine in that cellar.”
“There was also a woman inside it.”
His mouth tightened. “I didn’t know that.”
Claire stepped toward me. “I asked for the lock because Owen told me one of the temporary staff had been seen downstairs.”
“Owen,” I repeated.
Her driver.
The missing man.
“Yes.”
“And where is Owen now?”
“I told you, I don’t know.”
Detective Penn asked, “Full name?”
“Owen Vale,” Claire said.
The room went silent.
Even my attorney, who had just arrived in the doorway, stopped walking.
I looked at her.
“Owen what?”
Claire blinked. “Vale. It’s just his surname. I assumed he mentioned—”
“He did not.”
Nathan looked genuinely surprised.
That was interesting.
My family name was not common enough to dismiss as coincidence, not in this house, not attached to a man working for my fiancée six weeks before our wedding.
“How long has Owen worked for you?” Detective Penn asked.
“Eight months,” Claire said, now visibly shaken. “He came recommended by Celeste.”
“Celeste who?”
“Celeste Rowan. My wedding coordinator.”
A quiet, bitter laugh almost left me.
Of course.
There was always a coordinator. Someone with access. Someone who knew schedules, layouts, guest lists, deliveries. Someone invisible because people with money trained themselves not to notice labor unless it failed them.
“Where is Celeste?” I asked.
Claire went pale.
“She was supposed to be here this morning.”
“She isn’t.”
“No.”
Detective Penn made a note. “We’ll need her information.”
Claire gave it with trembling hands.
For the first time since the cellar, I believed her fear was real.
But real fear did not mean innocence.
“Dominic,” she said softly, “I didn’t know Owen’s surname mattered.”
“It matters if he chose this house because of it.”
Her eyes filled. “I swear to you, I didn’t know.”
I wanted to believe her.
That was the problem.
Want had deceived better men than me.
While Detective Penn’s team searched staff records and pulled security footage, my attorney, Samuel Price, drew me aside.
Samuel was seventy-one, elegant, and unshockable. He had represented my family through three generations of ambition and consequence. He knew where most bodies were buried metaphorically, and perhaps a few literally, though he had always preferred not to confirm either category.
“You need to be careful,” he said.
“I’m not the suspect.”
“In your own home, everyone is a suspect until the police decide otherwise.”