Chapter 2: The Seal Held Above the Marble Floor
The envelope stayed raised between us and the staircase, its official seal catching the chandelier light. No one in the ballroom moved. The string quartet had stopped in the middle of a measure, bows suspended above the strings. Around the marble floor, guests held their champagne glasses close to their chests, as if the crystal might protect them from what had become visible.
Lily looked at me first, then at the broken flute beside her knees. A shard had lodged in the gray fabric near her ankle. She reached toward it automatically.
I lowered the envelope and crossed the space between us.
My black shoes stopped just short of the glittering pieces. I held out one gloved hand. Lily stared at it for half a second before taking it. Her fingers were cold and unsteady. When she stood, the oversized uniform pulled crookedly across her shoulders, and the dark mark around her wrist showed beneath the loose cuff. The fading bruise beneath her left eye looked darker under the warm lights.
I kept hold of her hand and moved her behind me.
The guests watched the gesture more closely than they had watched the glass. Camille stepped away from the broken flute, her empty champagne glass still balanced between her manicured fingers. The emerald at her throat swayed once and came to rest against the black silk of her dress.
Richard reached the last step.
His hand remained on the banister. He looked first at Lily, then at the envelope, and finally at the guests who had seen his face change. His broad shoulders filled the staircase entrance, but the room no longer seemed arranged around him. The party had been built to display control. Now every person present was waiting to see who still possessed it.
He raised one hand toward the quartet.
The musicians lowered their bows. That was all. No one resumed playing.
Camille turned her empty glass toward the nearest table, searching for somewhere to set it down. The table was already crowded with untouched drinks and silver trays. She kept holding it instead. Her eyes remained on the seal.
I opened my handbag with my free hand. The leather clasp made a small, precise click in the silence. I placed the envelope against the bag instead of breaking it open. The Moretti Holdings mark faced the room.
Richard descended the final step and moved toward us. He did not come close enough to touch Lily. His confidence had returned only as posture: chin lifted, mouth controlled, one hand smoothing the front of his tuxedo.
The guests shifted apart to make a path, but no one left. Their attention stayed fixed on the envelope and the girl standing behind my shoulder.
Lily tightened her fingers around mine.
I felt the pressure and turned slightly, enough to let her see my face. She did not speak. Her eyes moved past me toward Richard, then toward Camille, before returning to the seal.
Richard stopped several feet away. His gaze settled on the envelope.
I held it higher.
The room seemed to draw one breath. Somewhere near the staircase, a loose piece of glass slid across the marble and struck the broken flute with a thin, bright sound.
No one bent to pick it up.
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Richard's hand closed around the banister behind him, and Camille moved to stand at his side. They were no longer separated by the staircase, the party, or the polished distance of their positions. Together, they faced the document. Together, they faced Lily.
I kept my daughter close and left the seal unbroken.
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