Chapter 6
"Explain this to me," the Father demanded, his hands trembling as he reached toward the briefcase. "Don't just throw accusations around! I need proof. Isabella is my daughter. She wouldn't—she couldn't do something like this."
Elias smoothly intercepted the Father’s hand, gently but firmly pushing it back. "Do not touch the evidence, Richard. I'll show you." He pulled the thick manila folder from the case and flipped it open, revealing a series of glossy, high-resolution photographs.
"What are those?" the Bride choked out, taking a small step backward.
"Surveillance photos," Elias answered, tossing the first photo onto the table. It showed a dark alleyway, illuminated only by a streetlamp. Two figures stood in the shadows. One was a large man with a shaved head. The other was a woman in a distinctive trench coat. "Taken three weeks before Caroline’s brakes conveniently failed on the cliffside."
"That could be anyone!" Isabella shouted, though the color had completely drained from her face.
"Could it?" Elias tossed a second photo down. This one was a close-up, taken through a long lens. The woman in the trench coat was clearly visible, handing a thick manila envelope to the bald man. Around her neck, resting over the collar of the coat, was a massive, vibrant emerald necklace.
The Father gasped, stumbling back as if he had been physically struck. His eyes darted from the photograph on the table to the Bride’s neck, where the exact same emerald necklace currently rested.
"You wore mother’s necklace to a murder-for-hire meeting," Caroline said, her voice dripping with a quiet, lethal disgust. "You couldn't even leave her memory out of your blood money."
"It’s photoshopped!" Isabella screamed, stepping backward until her spine hit the edge of the head table. "Caroline manipulated the photos! She always hated me, Dad, you know she did! She wanted the estate to herself!"
"Isabella," the Father whispered, his voice cracking with a devastating realization. "That trench coat... I bought you that coat in Milan. It’s custom."
May you like
"It's fake, Daddy, please!" she begged, tears finally streaming down her perfectly contoured face, ruining her makeup. "Tell them to leave! We can fix this, just get them out of here!"
"You can't fix this," Elias said, his gravelly voice cutting through her pleas. "Because the man in that photo? He didn't die in the fire. We found him. And he was very, very cooperative."
