Chapter 2 - THE LITTLE GIRL WHO KNEW TOO MUCH
“Put that bottle down, Rachel.”
My voice cut through the ballroom.
Rachel Bennett stood frozen, the small amber vial trembling between her fingers. Her three-year-old daughter clung to her leg, crying into a stuffed elephant.
Olivia struggled against my grip.
“Gabriel, you're hurting me!”
I released her wrist but stepped between her and Rachel.
“Then stop trying to take evidence away from a frightened mother.”
Two hundred guests watched beneath the crystal chandeliers.
My birthday cake lay scattered across the marble floor. Black frosting stained my jacket.
And for the first time in twenty-five years, I was grateful someone had ruined my celebration.
“Ruth,” I called.
My head of security appeared beside me.
“Have the ballroom entrances monitored. Nobody touches the cake, the plates, or that bottle. Call the police.”
Olivia stared at me.
“You're involving the police over a child's imagination?”
“No,” I answered. “I'm involving the police because you tried to grab something that doesn't belong to you.”
Her expression hardened.
“You're humiliating me.”
I looked toward Rachel.
She was holding Sophie so tightly that the child could barely move.
“Someone is being humiliated tonight,” I said. “But it isn't you.”
Rachel's eyes filled.
“Mr. Moretti, I didn't know that bottle was in my purse.”
“I believe you haven't seen it before.”
She swallowed.
“But you don't believe I had nothing to do with this.”
I couldn't answer immediately.
That hesitation hurt her more than an accusation would have.
Sophie lifted her tearstained face.
“Mommy didn't do bad.”
Rachel kissed her forehead.
“I know, sweetheart.”
The famous chef, Adrian Vale, approached us.
He was a broad-shouldered man with silver hair and the nervous expression of someone watching his reputation collapse.
“Mr. Moretti, I've personally supervised every ingredient.”
“Then why was my fiancée interfering with the serving?”
Adrian looked at Olivia.
“I didn't say she was.”
“But you didn't say she wasn't.”
He lowered his eyes.
“I was instructed to prepare one special portion.”
My stomach tightened.
“By whom?”
“Mrs. Mercer.”
Olivia stepped forward.
“Because Gabriel hates excessively sweet frosting. I asked for a separate serving. That's all.”
It sounded reasonable.
Olivia knew I preferred bitter chocolate.
She had remembered dozens of little things about me throughout our engagement.
That was what made the next hour so difficult.
A believable explanation could still conceal something terrible.
When Detective Marisol Vega arrived, she took the vial without opening it and arranged for the cake, my jacket, and the serving utensils to be preserved.
Sophie had finally stopped crying.
She sat against Rachel's shoulder, rubbing her elephant's ear.
Detective Vega crouched a few feet away.
“Hello, Sophie. That's a nice elephant.”
“His name's Peanut.”
“That's a good name.”
Sophie nodded seriously.
“Daddy gave him.”
Rachel turned away.
Vega didn't press the child for details.
Instead, she asked Rachel about Daniel.
“My husband worked catering,” Rachel explained. “He came home from an engagement party eight months ago. Someone had given him a piece of cake. He ate it at our kitchen table.”
Her voice cracked.
“Sophie was sitting beside him.”
I felt something cold move through my chest.
“He became dizzy,” Rachel continued. “He said he needed to lie down. Then he collapsed.”
“What did the doctors say?”
“Sudden cardiac failure.”
“And the engagement party?”
Rachel looked directly at me.
“Yours, Mr. Moretti.”
I remembered that evening.
Olivia had arranged it at one of my casino properties.
I had left earlier than expected because of an emergency involving our operating licenses.
I remembered the flowers.
The music.
Olivia's disappointment.
I didn't remember Daniel Bennett.
That realization made me ashamed.
Ruth approached carrying a tablet.
“Gabriel. We found something on the service corridor camera.”
We watched the recording together.
At 8:12 that evening, Rachel had left her purse on a shelf outside the kitchen while carrying champagne trays.
Olivia entered the corridor.
She looked toward the ballroom.
Then she opened Rachel's purse and slipped something inside.
The amber vial.
Rachel covered her mouth.
Olivia stopped moving.
But the recording continued.
A man approached from the opposite corridor and handed Olivia the bottle before she planted it.
He wore a charcoal suit and a silver watch.
I knew him instantly.
Warren Pike.
My chief operating officer.
My most trusted business partner for nineteen years.
The man who had helped me build my casino empire.
I watched Warren lean toward Olivia and say something the silent recording couldn't reveal.
Then he pointed toward the ballroom.
Toward me.
Ruth whispered, “Gabriel, Warren approved the catering company for tonight.”
I stared at the screen.
Because Warren Pike had also approved the catering company at my engagement party.
The night Daniel Bennett died.
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And suddenly, my fiftieth birthday no longer looked like an isolated attempt to hurt me.
It looked like the second attempt.
