Chapter 5 - The Photograph
I turned the laptop toward Adrian.
“What is this?”
For the first time since I called him, my brother looked uncomfortable.
Naomi studied the photograph.
Dad came closer.
Mom stood behind him.
Adrian stared at the image for several seconds.
Then he sighed.
“I met Charles before you married Preston.”
I felt the room tilt.
“What?”
“Elena—”
“You told me you barely knew them.”
“I said I knew their business.”
“You shook his hand.”
“That doesn’t mean we were friends.”
“When?”
“Six years ago.”
“Where?”
“A conference in Chicago.”
I remembered.
Six years earlier.
I had been dating Preston for eight months.
Adrian had called me afterward.
He had asked strange questions.
How serious are you about Preston?
How involved is he in the family company?
Has he ever asked about your money?
I had accused him of being controlling.
“You investigated Preston?”
“No.”
“You investigated his family.”
“My client did.”
“Before I married him?”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me?”
“I told you I thought the family had problems.”
“You said they were arrogant.”
“I couldn’t disclose client work.”
“You could have said more.”
“I said everything I legally could.”
Anger burned through me.
“You’re doing exactly what they do.”
His eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“Deciding what I’m allowed to know.”
That hit him.
Good.
Dad stepped between us.
“Enough.”
“No, Dad.”
Adrian nodded.
“She’s right.”
I had not expected that.
He sat down.
“Let me tell you everything I can.”
Six years earlier, Adrian’s firm had been retained by a private equity group considering acquiring a minority stake in Harrington Infrastructure Partners.
Adrian led the risk team.
During due diligence, they found unusual vendor relationships.
Halcyon Ridge had appeared in the records.
“So you knew about Halcyon before today?”
“The name.”
“And you didn’t recognize it immediately when Madison mentioned it?”
“I did.”
“You acted like you didn’t.”
“I didn’t want to influence what she told us.”
“That’s convenient.”
“It’s investigative practice.”
“I’m your sister.”
“And that makes mistakes more dangerous, not less.”
Naomi spoke.
“He’s right about that.”
I glared at her.
She lifted both hands.
“I’m not saying he handled this perfectly.”
Adrian continued.
“The deal collapsed. My client walked away. Charles was furious.”
“Why the photo?”
“The conference happened afterward. He approached me.”
“What did he say?”
“He asked whether I enjoyed ruining companies.”
Dad muttered, “Friendly.”
“I told him companies ruin themselves.”
That sounded exactly like Adrian.
“What else?”
“He asked about you.”
My anger disappeared.
“What?”
“He knew you were dating Preston.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did he ask?”
“Whether I had concerns about the marriage.”
“And?”
“I said family was not part of my professional work.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
“Charles smiled and said, ‘Everything is business eventually.’”
A chill moved through me.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you loved Preston. Because I had no proof of anything criminal. Because if I told you your boyfriend’s father had been researched by my company, I would have violated confidentiality and possibly destroyed my career.”
He looked at me.
“And because I hoped I was wrong.”
The anger in me did not disappear.
But it changed.
Preston had sent the photograph because he wanted exactly this.
Distrust.
Division.
“Why would Preston have this?” I asked.
Adrian answered immediately.
“Charles.”
Naomi nodded.
“He’s trying to isolate you.”
My phone buzzed again.
Another email.
This one was from Martin Keene.
FORMAL NOTICE.
Naomi opened it.
Her eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“They’re demanding preservation of evidence regarding alleged assault by Elena.”
I laughed.
My rib screamed.
I stopped.
“They’re threatening me?”
“They’re building a record.”
“For slapping Charles.”
“Yes.”
Dad slammed his palm onto the counter.
“That man attacked my daughter.”
Naomi stayed calm.
“And that is why we build our own record instead of reacting emotionally.”
Adrian looked toward the window.
“Where’s the footage?”
Madison texted twenty minutes later.
I CAN GET IT.
Adrian called her from a secure line.
“Don’t steal anything.”
“I won’t.”
“Don’t access systems you’re not authorized to access.”
“I have authorization.”
“How?”
“I’m still a director of the Harrington Family Foundation. The gala was a foundation event. Security footage is part of our records.”
Naomi considered that.
“Possibly enough.”
Madison said, “I can request preservation.”
“Do that,” Naomi replied. “In writing.”
By six that evening, Madison had sent a formal preservation request to the foundation’s executive director, security department and legal counsel.
Thirty minutes later, something extraordinary happened.
The security company replied.
Footage would be preserved.
At 6:47 p.m., Martin called Naomi.
She answered on speaker.
“Ms. Brooks.”
“Mr. Keene.”
“I understand your client has involved Madison Harrington.”
“My client did no such thing.”
“Madison has made certain requests.”
“As a foundation director, apparently.”
A pause.
“I think everyone would benefit from lowering the temperature.”
Naomi smiled.
“Your client fractured my client’s rib.”
“After being struck.”
“There were approximately two hundred witnesses.”
“Witness recollections vary.”
“Fortunately, cameras do not.”
Martin became quiet.
Then he said something that changed the entire case.
“There may be technical problems with the ballroom footage.”
Adrian’s expression hardened.
“What kind of technical problems?” Naomi asked.
“Some recordings appear corrupted.”
Madison, listening from my phone, whispered, “He’s lying.”
Naomi said, “You’re informing us within an hour of receiving a preservation demand that relevant security footage may be corrupted?”
“I’m informing you that we are reviewing the system.”
“Do not alter anything.”
“Of course.”
The call ended.
Adrian looked at Madison’s phone connection.
“When did you last see the archive functioning?”
“Last week.”
“Who manages it?”
“Owen.”
“Can Charles access it remotely?”
“Yes.”
Adrian turned to Naomi.
“We need a forensic preservation order.”
“I’ll move.”
My stomach tightened.
“So the video is gone?”
“Not necessarily.”
Madison interrupted.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“The ballroom wasn’t the only camera.”
I waited.
“The gala was being professionally filmed for the foundation’s donor video.”
Of course.
I remembered the camera crew moving between tables.
Naomi asked, “Who hired them?”
“Brightline Media.”
Adrian was already searching.
“Independent?”
“Yes.”
“Then Charles doesn’t control their raw footage.”
For the first time all day, hope appeared.
Naomi called Brightline.
No answer.
She emailed.
At 8:12 p.m., the owner replied.
YES, RAW FOOTAGE EXISTS.
Naomi requested preservation immediately.
At 8:25, another email arrived.
Then another.
The videographer wrote:
You should know something before we speak.
Our second camera captured the incident near the pillar.
I have reviewed it.
And what happened afterward may be more important than the push itself.
My heart began to race.
Naomi typed:
What happened afterward?
The reply came sixty seconds later.
Your husband spoke privately with his father while you were leaving.
May you like
One microphone was still live.
We have audio.
