The voice on the phone belonged to Mara Quinn, my law partner and the only person at the firm who knew I kept the secure evidence account connected to my personal phone.
She did not ask why I was calling during my wedding reception.
The photograph I had sent told her enough.
‘Nora,’ she repeated, ‘do not surrender the originals.
Do not alter the order of the pages.
Tell hotel security to preserve every camera recording from the ballroom, service corridor, and loading entrance.’
Julian stared at my phone as if it were a weapon.
Reginald recovered first.
‘End the call,’ he said.
The hotel manager had reached us by then.
His name was Mr.
Hale, and ten minutes earlier he had been smiling beside the champagne tower.
Now he stood between two security officers, looking from the red mark on my cheek to Julian’s raised hand.
‘Mrs.
Voss,’ he began.
‘Bellamy,’ I said.
‘My name is Nora Bellamy.’
The correction landed harder than I expected.
I had worn Julian’s name for forty-seven minutes.
I was already finished carrying it.
Mr.
Hale nodded.
‘Ms.
Bellamy, would you like us to contact the police?’
‘Yes.’
Julian laughed, but the sound was thin.
‘This is a private family matter.’
‘You struck a guest in my ballroom,’ Mr.
Hale said.
‘It is now a hotel matter as well.’
Three hundred people heard him.
That was the moment Julian understood that his father could not buy silence quickly enough.
Too many witnesses had seen the slap.
Too many phones were already raised.
The wedding videographer’s camera was still pointed toward us, its small red light glowing above the lens.
Reginald stepped closer to me.
‘Nora, you are upset.
Give me the packet, go upstairs, and let the adults handle this.’
I almost admired the instinct.
He had just watched his son hit a woman in public, yet his first concern was the folder.
‘I am an adult,’ I said.
‘I am also an officer of the court.
These records appear to show concealed transfers connected to a fatal industrial incident.
I will preserve them until law enforcement tells me otherwise.’
‘They are privileged.’
‘Then your attorneys may assert that privilege through proper channels.’
His eyes hardened.
‘You stole them.’
The young waiter flinched.
I turned toward him.
‘Please tell Mr.
Hale what happened.’
The waiter looked at Reginald, then at Julian.
Both men were accustomed to people shrinking beneath their attention.
He did not shrink.
‘A man from the private dining room gave me the packet,’ he said.
