Chapter 2 - The Security Footage
The left screen flickered once, twice, and then stabilized into a crisp, high-definition black-and-white image.
It was the ballroom, recorded twenty minutes earlier from the security dome camera hidden inside the central chandelier.
The guests on the screen were still milling about, drinking champagne, talking in small circles. On the right side of the frame, near the stone hearth, three-year-old Lily was sitting on a small wooden stool. She was wearing her yellow dress, her legs dangling, holding the knitted rabbit in her lap while Grace polished the silver candlesticks ten feet away.
The room went so still you could hear the ice melting in the ice buckets.
On the screen, Vivien Marsh walked into the frame.
She was holding a glass of wine. She stopped near the hearth, looking around to see if anyone was paying attention to her. The angle was crystal clear—it showed her face, her eyes narrowing as she looked down at the little girl.
She waited until Grace turned her back to take a tray of dirty glasses to the kitchen corridor.
Then, Vivien moved.
On the high-definition video, three hundred people watched Vivien Marsh deliberately reach into her designer clutch, pull out a heavy gold lighter, and lean over the small wicker basket near the hearth. She didn't flick it once by accident. She held the flame to the soft ear of the knitted bunny for five long seconds until a bright plume of black smoke curled into the air.
Then, she stepped back, dropped the lighter into her bag, and took a sip of her wine while the child began to cry.
A woman in the third row of guests let out a muffled scream of disgust.
Vivien stood frozen in the center of the ballroom, her face completely drained of color. She looked like a ghost under the crystal lights.
"My God," someone whispered loudly near the orchestra stage. "She did it on purpose. To a baby."
"She burned a dead man's gift," another voice added, thick with contempt. "She's insane."
Vivien turned frantically to her mother. "Mother! Do something! Tell them to turn it off!"
Eleanor Marsh didn't reach for her daughter. She looked at the screen, then at the horrified faces of the board members sitting nearby, and slowly stepped away from Vivien, her mouth set in a thin, humiliated line.
"Mr. Harrison," Nathaniel said, his voice entirely devoid of warmth.
"Sir?"
"Call the Boston Police Department," Nathaniel said smoothly. "File a report for arson, reckless endangerment of a minor, and destruction of property inside a private residence."
Vivien gasped, stumbling forward. "Police?! Nathaniel, are you out of your mind?! I am a Marsh! My father is on the board of the Children’s Hospital! You can’t call the police on me over a fifty-cent stuffed animal!"
"The stuffed animal was priceless," Nathaniel said.
He walked over to Grace, gently placing his uninjured hand against the small of her back. Grace trembled at the contact, but she didn't pull away. She couldn't. Her legs felt like water.
"And as of ten seconds ago," Nathaniel added, looking directly at Vivien’s mother, "Callaway Freight Systems is terminating its ten-million-dollar logistics contract with Marsh Maritime."
Eleanor Marsh let out a strangled cry, clutching her throat. "Nathaniel! That contract keeps our family's shipping line solvent! You can't destroy forty years of business over a domestic dispute!"
"It isn't a domestic dispute," Nathaniel replied coldly. "It is a business decision. I don't do business with cruel people. It’s bad for security."
He turned his attention back to Frank Harrison.
"Escort Miss Marsh and her mother off the premises," Nathaniel ordered. "If they refuse to leave, have your team use necessary force. They are barred from Callaway property permanently."
Two uniformed security guards stepped out from the side doors, their heavy boots thudding against the marble.
"Get your hands off me!" Vivien shrieked as one of the guards gripped her elbow. "Nathaniel! Look at me! You're throwing away your future for a servant?! She's a nobody! Her husband was a dead laborer! She sleeps in the back cottage!"
The guard didn't hesitate. He pulled her arm behind her back with practiced efficiency, leading her toward the rear exit while she kicked and screamed, her designer dress tearing against the heavy iron door frame.
The sound of her screaming faded down the long stone hallway until the double doors slammed shut.
Silence returned to the ballroom.
Three hundred guests stood entirely frozen, looking at Nathaniel Callaway.
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Nathaniel didn't address the room. He didn't offer a polite speech, nor did he apologize for the ruined gala. He simply turned to Grace, his eyes softening into something so fierce and protective that Grace felt her breath catch in her throat.
"Come," he whispered, his thumb lightly brushing the side of her arm. "Let's go take care of your hand."
