Chapter 1 - The Promotion Party
“Hit me again, Commissioner. This time, make sure the cameras see.”
The music stopped so suddenly that Mara Bennett heard the ice crack in somebody’s drink.
She sat on the low stone wall behind the Whitcomb house, palms pressed against rough granite, blood drying beneath her nose. Her charcoal satin dress had snagged on the edge of the wall when Victor Whitcomb shoved her. Above them, strings of golden lights swung in the October wind. Beyond the patio, forty guests stood perfectly still.
Victor bent until his expensive tie nearly touched her face. “You ungrateful little liar.”
“Then tell them why you needed my phone.”
His hand flexed. A red welt marked his left cheek where she had fought him off.
“Careful,” he whispered. “You have no idea what I can take from you.”
A man in a dark NYPD dress uniform pushed past the guests. Detective Daniel Reyes had been promoted that afternoon. The party was supposed to be his. Instead he watched Victor seize Mara's wrist.
“Let her go,” Daniel said.
Victor didn’t turn. “Walk away, Detective. Your career starts tomorrow.”
“It starts right now.”
Daniel caught Victor from behind, pinned his arms, and pulled him off the wall. Victor stumbled, cursing, as guests gasped. Mara stayed seated. Her breath rasped and her right eye throbbed. It took every ounce of strength not to collapse.
Two hours earlier, Mara had practiced telling the truth in the mirror of a restaurant bathroom. She had rehearsed a calm question: Why did my brother's accident report change three times? Now she could hardly remember the words. Everyone at the party knew Victor as a generous philanthropist. Some called him a friend of the department. A judge had toasted his generosity only minutes before he wrapped his fingers around Mara's arm. Nobody had moved then. Nobody had wanted to become the first person to admit what they were watching.
“I own half the people at this party!” Victor shouted.
“Then they can give statements,” Daniel said.
A patrol car rolled through the open side gate. Crimson light washed across Mara’s face. Her hand rose to her mouth. She felt the small cut along her nose, the swelling beneath her eye, and something else—her first clear breath in weeks.
She smiled, barely.
Victor saw it. For the first time, his confidence cracked.
“You think you've won?” he hissed. “Ask Daniel what happened to your brother.”
Mara's hand fell. Daniel's grip tightened.
Her brother Evan had been dead for eleven months. According to the NYPD, he had driven off the FDR in a tragic accident. According to the message that brought Mara to the party, Evan had never been driving at all.
“What does he mean?” Mara asked Daniel.
May you like
Daniel did not answer.
From the dark kitchen window, a woman Mara had never seen held up a phone displaying three words: DON'T TRUST HIM.
