Chapter 5
Julian lowered the tablet slowly, his green jacket feeling suddenly restrictive across his chest. He looked at Clara, his eyes dark and haunted. “It’s Raymond,” he said, the name tasting like ash in his mouth.
Clara recoiled as if she had been physically struck. “Raymond? What are you talking about? Raymond was having lunch at the country club across town with his business associates. He told me so himself this morning.”
“Did he?” Julian asked quietly. He turned his gaze back to Arthur Pendelton. “Arthur, pull up the lobby surveillance camera from one o’clock today. Check the main entrance. Did Raymond leave the hotel, or did he stay inside?”
Arthur blinked, surprised by the sudden pivot in the investigation. He began tapping furiously on his tablet, bypassing the housekeeping logs to access the hotel’s expansive closed-circuit television network. Within seconds, a new video feed loaded onto the screen. It showed the grand marble lobby of the Grand Continental, timestamped at one-fifteen PM.
The four of them—Julian, Clara, Arthur, and Maeve—crowded around the small screen in the dim hallway.
On the video, a man in a tailored grey suit walked across the lobby. His dark hair was slicked back, and he was adjusting his cuffs with an air of casual elegance. It was Raymond Vance. But instead of walking toward the front glass doors leading to the street and the country club, Raymond turned sharply toward the private elevator bank reserved exclusively for the upper suites. He pulled a key card from his pocket, swiped the reader, and stepped into the private car without looking once at the front desk.
Clara brought a hand up to cover her mouth, her elegant updo suddenly feeling like a heavy, suffocating weight. “He lied,” she whispered, the words trembling on her lips. “Raymond lied to me.”
Maeve stood quietly in the background, watching the realization wash over the Vances. The overwhelming terror that had gripped her chest a few minutes ago began to recede, replaced by a cold, stinging anger. She had been a convenient scapegoat—a poor girl in a blue uniform who could easily be blamed, easily discarded, and easily forgotten by people who lived in a world of inherited wealth and family secrets.
“He took my card,” Maeve said softly, her voice cutting through the silence of the corridor.
Julian turned to her, his expression a mix of shame and fierce determination. “What did you say?”
“He stopped me in the service pantry this morning,” Maeve explained, finding her courage now that the truth was unraveling before them. “Mr. Raymond Vance. He asked me if I could help him carry a tray of spare linens to his suite. While I was reaching for the linens on the top shelf, he stood right behind my cart. He must have slipped my spare key card out of the side pocket of my apron. He smiled, thanked me, and walked away. I didn't think anything of it because he’s your brother, Mr. Vance. I trusted him.”
Clara let out a ragged breath, her fury shifting entirely from the terrified maid to the absent brother-in-law. “That manipulative, debt-ridden parasite,” she hissed, her fingernails digging into her own palms. “He stole my grandmother's necklace to cover his gambling debts, and he tried to ruin an innocent woman's life to do it.”
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Julian didn't argue. He knew his brother’s history better than anyone. Raymond had been burning through family trust funds and borrowing money from shady lenders for a decade. But framing a working-class girl was a new low, even for Raymond.
“Arthur,” Julian said, his voice dropping into a tone of absolute authority. “Where is my brother right now?”
