“Stop lying!”
“You chose Maeve because she noticed the transport numbers,” Kellan said. “You were afraid she would tell the museum that the necklace had been replaced.”
The detective turned to Lydia.
“Where is the original Crimson Star?”
She did not answer.
Sebastian looked at her with disbelief.
“How long?”
Her silence was answer enough.
“How long have you been stealing from the foundation?” he demanded.
Lydia’s shoulders dropped.
The perfect posture disappeared. The polished public figure seemed to collapse inward, revealing someone exhausted and furious.
“You have no idea what it costs to maintain a life like mine.”
Sebastian stared at her.
“The foundation paid you extremely well.”
“The salary was nothing compared with the expectations. The houses, the dinners, the donations, the clothes—everyone wanted Lydia Graves to look successful.”
“So you stole money intended for sick children?”
“I borrowed it.”
“You replaced a historic necklace with a copy.”
“I was going to fix everything after the insurance payment.”
Maeve spoke for the first time.
“And what were you going to do to me?”
Lydia looked at her.
For a moment, there was no ballroom, no audience, no police. Only two women standing a few feet apart.
One wore a crystal gown.
The other wore a silver work uniform.
“You were supposed to take a settlement,” Lydia said. “The hotel would have paid you to remain silent.”
“You expected me to confess to something I did not do.”
“I expected you to be practical.”
“You expected me to be powerless.”
Lydia’s face hardened.
“You repair clothing for strangers. Do not pretend you understand my position.”
Maeve stepped closer.
“I understand it perfectly. You believed that because people rarely notice me, nobody would notice what happened to me.”
Oliver looked at the phones held by the guests.
“They notice now.”
Detective Pike instructed Lydia to turn around.
She did not move.
“You cannot arrest me on the word of a frightened assistant and a broken art camera.”
“We also have an altered security file, deleted backups, a planted access card, a planted ruby, multiple witnesses, and your recorded presence with Mr. Frost.”
Lydia looked toward Sebastian.
“Tell them this is a misunderstanding.”
Sebastian’s expression contained no sympathy.
“You turned my hotel into a crime scene. You used a charity for children to finance your lies. And you selected an innocent woman because you thought her life was less valuable than yours.”
The detective repeated his instruction.
This time, Lydia turned around.
The click of the handcuffs sounded louder than the orchestra had.
Guests moved aside as the police escorted Lydia and Kellan toward the exit. No one applauded. No one spoke.
The ballroom had become unnaturally quiet.
Maeve looked at the empty display case.
A few minutes earlier, it had seemed to contain the most important object in the room.
Now it was only glass and velvet.
Oliver leaned against her.
“Can we go home?”
Maeve placed an arm around his shoulders.
“Yes.”
Sebastian approached them.
“Maeve, wait.”
She stopped but did not turn immediately.
“I am sorry,” he said.
She faced him.
“You did not accuse me.”
“I employed people who did. They searched you in front of strangers. They frightened your son. That happened inside my hotel.”
Maeve looked across the ballroom.
Some of the guests avoided her eyes. Others appeared eager to apologize now that apologizing was safe.
A journalist lowered her phone.
One of the security officers who had searched Maeve’s cart quietly removed his hat.
Sebastian continued.
“The police will need your statement, but my legal team will make sure you are protected. You will also receive compensation.”
“Money will not erase what Oliver saw.”
“No,” Sebastian said. “It will not.”
Camille joined them.
“The city museum is reopening its conservation department next month,” she said. “My professor is leading the textile division. I showed her photographs of the Bellweather tapestry you restored. She asked who had done the work.”
Maeve looked at her.
“What did you tell her?”
“The truth. That the most qualified conservator in the building was repairing cocktail dresses because no one had bothered to look at her résumé.”
For the first time that night, Maeve almost smiled.
Camille handed her a card.
“This is not charity. It is an interview.”
Maeve accepted it.
Oliver studied the card.
“Does that mean you won’t have to work at parties anymore?”
“It means your mother will decide where she works,” Maeve said.
They walked through the ballroom together.
The locked doors had been opened. Cool night air entered from the stone terrace, carrying the scent of rain.
Outside, police lights moved across the hotel walls.
Oliver stopped beneath the entrance canopy.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”