Before the Chandeliers Went Dark, a Little Girl Told the Truth No One Wanted

At one in the morning, a television van parked outside the estate gates.

Daniela knew none of this while she sat beside Iris in a small upstairs bedroom reserved for visiting grandchildren.

Iris wore a borrowed pajama shirt that reached her knees. Bramble lay on a towel across the dresser, his stomach open, most of his stuffing sealed in an evidence bag downstairs.

“He looks dead,” Iris said.

“He isn’t.”

“His insides are gone.”

“We’ll put them back.”

“Police took them.”

“They’ll return them.”

“Police don’t bring things back.”

Daniela looked at her.

“Who told you that?”

“Mrs. Flores. They took her son’s phone.”

Daniela made a note to have a conversation with the neighbor from the staff cottages.

Iris curled beneath the quilt.

“Did they take Daddy’s phone?”

“No.”

“Then why doesn’t he call?”

There were answers adults gave children because they were technically true. He lived far away. He was busy. Some people had trouble keeping promises.

Daniela was too tired for them.

“Because he makes bad choices,” she said.

Iris considered this. “Like the gold lady?”

“Different bad choices.”

“Are hers worse?”

“Tonight they were.”

A knock sounded.

Gabriel stood in the doorway with two mugs.

One held tea. The other smelled like instant cocoa.

“I checked the temperature,” he told Iris.

“With your finger?”

“With a spoon.”

“Good.”

He set the cocoa on the nightstand.

Daniela did not take the tea.

“Where are the police?” she asked.

“Reviewing the ballroom and scullery. They want to speak with you.”

“They already did.”

“They want a recorded statement.”

“Iris is not answering anything else tonight.”

“I told them.”

Daniela folded her arms.

“You told them.”

“Yes.”

“Do you always answer for employees?”

“No.”

“You did in the ballroom.”

His shoulders lowered slightly. “You are right.”

She had expected a defense.

His agreement left her with nowhere to put the next sentence.

Iris blew across her cocoa.

Gabriel stepped farther into the room.

“The locket was removed from the family safe at seven thirty-eight.”

“Who opened it?” Daniela asked.

“The electronic record shows my access code.”

She stared at him.

“Were you here?”

“I was on a flight from Chicago.”

“Then your code is wrong.”

“Or someone used my physical override key.”

“Who has it?”

“I keep it in my office safe.”

“Who can open that?”

He looked toward the hallway before answering.

“My sister. Celia. Desmond, in an emergency.”

“Desmond says he didn’t.”

“I believe him.”

“You believed your sister yesterday.”

He accepted that without blinking.

Daniela looked toward Iris.

The child had dipped Bramble’s loose product tag into the cocoa and was trying to wipe it dry on the sheet.

Daniela took the tag gently from her.

“Why were you in Chicago?” she asked Gabriel.

“A lender meeting.”

“For the hotels?”

“Yes.”

“The foundation audit is tomorrow.”

“Was tomorrow.”

“What does that mean?”

“Sabine postponed it this afternoon.”

Daniela’s hand tightened around the damp tag.

“She knew.”

“I don’t know what she knew.”

“She asked me about the photographs before the gala.”

He became very still.

“What photographs?”

Daniela said nothing.

Iris looked between them.

“Mom has secret papers,” she announced.

Daniela closed her eyes.

Gabriel sat in the chair near the window.

“Tell me,” he said.

“No.”

“Daniela.”

“You are still her brother.”

“And president of the company whose records may be involved.”

“That is another reason not to tell you.”

His jaw shifted.

“Fine. Tell the police.”

“Your family funds half the civic organizations in this county.”

“They do not fund the police department.”

“Your foundation bought its youth center.”

He rubbed a hand over his face.

“Then tell an attorney who does not work for me.”

“I cannot afford one.”

“I can.”

“No.”

“You do not have to owe me.”

She laughed without humor.

“People with your last name think that sentence changes arithmetic.”

He looked toward the dark window.

Rain threaded down the glass. Beyond it, the estate lawn shone under security lights, too carefully maintained to look real.

“I have a number,” he said. “Nia Brooks. She runs the employment clinic Sophie supported.”

Daniela knew the name of his late wife. Everyone in the household did. Sophie Mercer had not been born into the family. She had been a public defender before marrying Gabriel and had continued taking cases until illness made court days impossible. Staff spoke of her carefully because grief in rich houses had rules.

“She won’t work for you?” Daniela asked.

“She rarely agrees with me.”

“That was not the question.”

“No. She does not work for me.”

“Call her.”

Gabriel reached for his phone.

Daniela stopped him.

“From mine.”

Nia Brooks arrived at Mercer Hall shortly after two in the morning wearing rain boots, a camel coat over sweatpants, and the expression of someone who considered sleep a negotiable privilege.

She did not shake Gabriel’s hand.

“You said a child had been publicly accused, an employee fired, and police were on-site.”

“I did not say fired,” Gabriel replied.

Daniela handed Nia her phone.

The termination email had arrived fourteen minutes earlier.

Nia read it.

“Effective immediately,” she said. “Misconduct involving company property, breach of confidentiality, unauthorized presence of a dependent in restricted areas.”

Gabriel took out his own phone.

“Who sent that?”

“Celia Ward, on behalf of Sabine Mercer and estate management.”

“I’ll reverse it.”

“No,” Daniela said.

He looked at her.

Nia looked between them. “She means you will not casually reverse a termination as though that solves retaliation, housing, insurance, or the theft allegation.”

“I know it does not solve them.”

“Good. That saves me one speech.”

Nia turned to Daniela.

“Do you live on the grounds?”

“In the south cottage.”

“Is housing part of your compensation?”