Chapter 5 - THE NECKLACE WAS NEVER STOLEN
The photograph had been taken two weeks earlier.
Brenda was standing in front of a mirror.
The emerald necklace hung around her throat.
She was smiling.
I stared at the image for several seconds.
Then I passed it across the table.
Andrew picked it up.
His face drained of color.
“What is this?”
“I think you know.”
He looked toward his attorney.
“Where did you get it?”
“A public social media account belonging to Ms. Collins’s stylist.”
The stylist had posted behind-the-scenes photographs from a private fitting.
She had removed them within twenty minutes.
But the internet rarely forgets.
Andrew zoomed in.
The necklace was unmistakable.
Margaret’s family heirloom.
The same necklace I had supposedly stolen.
One of the directors whispered, “Jesus.”
Andrew pushed back from the table.
“This proves nothing.”
I studied him.
“Really?”
“She could have borrowed it.”
“From whom?”
Andrew said nothing.
I leaned back.
“Margaret claimed the necklace disappeared yesterday afternoon.”
“Yes.”
“The photograph was taken two weeks ago.”
His silence answered for him.
My attorney placed another document on the table.
“We also obtained security footage from the Whitmore mansion.”
Andrew looked confused.
“What footage?”
“Your main system was disabled between 6:11 p.m. and 6:43 p.m. last night.”
I remembered.
That was just before Margaret accused me.
“But the property has a secondary insurance camera inside the west corridor.”
Andrew had forgotten about it.
So had Margaret.
The footage showed Brenda entering Margaret’s private sitting room.
Three minutes later, she emerged holding something wrapped inside a white handkerchief.
Then she walked directly toward the guest bedroom.
My chest tightened.
They had planned it.
This had not been a spontaneous accusation.
The necklace had been planted.
The humiliation had been prepared.
The only thing Andrew may not have planned was the second slap.
Or maybe he had.
I looked at him.
“Did you know?”
His eyes moved away.
That was enough.
“Andrew.”
He finally spoke.
“Brenda said we needed proof.”
“Proof of what?”
“That you were unstable.”
My fingers went cold.
“For the divorce.”
The truth landed harder than his hand had.
Brenda wanted me gone.
Andrew wanted a clean divorce.
Margaret wanted to protect the Whitmore name.
So they had decided to make me look like a thief.
I stood.
Andrew immediately said, “Mariana, listen.”
“No.”
“It wasn’t supposed to go that far.”
I looked at him.
“You accused me of stealing.”
“I was angry.”
“You hit me.”
His voice lowered.
“I know.”
“Twice.”
Several directors looked away.
Andrew took a step toward me.
“I made a mistake.”
I almost smiled.
“No.”
I picked up the photograph.
“A mistake is forgetting an anniversary.”
I placed it in front of him.
“This was a conspiracy.”
Then my attorney’s phone rang.
She answered.
Her expression changed immediately.
“What happened?”
She listened.
Then turned toward me.
“Someone just entered the Whitmore mansion.”
Andrew frowned.
“Who?”
She looked at him.
May you like
“Federal investigators.”
And suddenly, the missing necklace was no longer the biggest secret inside his house.
