The string quartet was still playing a flawless rendition of Vivaldi, but the music sounded like white noise over the roaring in my ears. My heart pounded so violently against my ribs I thought it might shatter them.
The silver-haired woman with the federal badge was weaving through the sea of sequined gowns and tailored tuxedos, her eyes locked onto our table with lethal precision. Across the room, Celeste had completely dropped her dazzling, camera-ready smile. Panic surged across her face as she practically shoved two wealthy investors aside, her designer heels clicking furiously against the marble floor as she sprinted to intercept the woman before she could reach my father and me.
“Excuse me!” Celeste hissed, stepping directly into the agent’s path, her voice low but laced with that familiar, venomous authority. “This is a private, million-dollar charity gala. Security will escort you out immediately.”
The woman didn’t even blink. She calmly reached into her dark blazer, pulled out a stack of folded, red-stamped documents, and shoved them against Celeste’s chest. “Agent Sterling, FBI Financial Crimes Division. And unless you want me to read these wire transfer logs into the microphone on that stage, Mrs. Harrington, I suggest you lower your voice.”
A chill ran down my spine as I watched my untouchable, flawless sister visibly tremble.
But Celeste was a master manipulator. In a fraction of a second, her terrified expression twisted into a mask of fake, desperate sorrow. She pointed a shaking, manicured finger directly at me.
“Officer, thank God you’re here,” Celeste choked out, forcing a fake tear down her cheek. “I’ve been trying to protect my father all night! My younger sister, Seraphina—she runs a struggling animal clinic and she’s been forging his signature to keep her pathetic business afloat. She’s the one draining his accounts!”
My stomach dropped into a bottomless abyss.
The sheer audacity of the lie left me paralyzed. Several guests at nearby tables had stopped talking, their heads turning toward us, whispering excitedly as the drama unfolded. I opened my mouth to defend myself, to scream the truth, but before I could utter a single syllable, my father’s trembling hands grabbed my wrist again.
He wasn’t looking at Celeste. He wasn’t looking at the agent. He was staring at the inner breast pocket of his own oversized suit jacket.
“Seraphina,” he wheezed, his breath rattling in his chest. “Take it. Before she does.”
With shaking fingers, I reached inside his pocket. My hand brushed against a cold, heavy metal object. It was a brass safety deposit box key wrapped inside a crumpled piece of hospital stationery. But it was the handwriting on the note that made the blood freeze in my veins.
It wasn’t my father’s handwriting. Nor was it Celeste’s.
It was my mother’s handwriting.
Agent Sterling bypassed my sister entirely, stepping right up to our table. But she didn’t look at my father. She didn’t look at Celeste. She looked dead straight at me.
“Dr. Vale,” the agent said, her voice dropping to a terrifyingly quiet whisper that only I could hear. “We need to talk about the two million dollars that was just deposited into your veterinary hospital’s account ten minutes ago… from a dead man’s offshore trust.”
A dead man?
Before I could process the horrific accusation, the pavilion’s grand double doors burst open, and five uniformed police officers stormed the gala. But they weren’t walking toward Celeste.
They were walking straight toward my mother.
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