Chapter 3 - The Missing Purse
By midnight, the gala had become a crime scene without police tape.
Vincent did not call the Chicago Police Department immediately.
Emma noticed that.
He called private security, two attorneys, and the foundation’s outside counsel.
Isabella noticed too.
“You’re protecting the company.”
“I’m protecting the integrity of the evidence.”
“You’re protecting the share price.”
Vincent’s gaze hardened.
“If I accuse my CFO of theft before I know what happened, I can destroy thousands of employees’ pensions and investments.”
“And if you wait too long, he can destroy evidence.”
Emma stood between them feeling like an intruder at a family argument that had been waiting years for the right excuse.
Vincent finally faced her.
“Miss Carter, my driver can take you home.”
“Is that a polite way of asking me to leave?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll stay until she’s safe.”
Isabella squeezed Emma’s hand.
Vincent regarded her with an expression Emma could not interpret.
“Very well.”
Security searched the building.
The ivory purse did not appear.
Victoria remained in the east salon with her attorney, who had arrived within forty minutes.
Leonard Shaw had vanished.
Not dramatically.
His coat was gone.
His car had left the garage at 7:53.
He was not answering calls.
At 1:10 a.m., Vincent’s security chief brought another discovery.
“A coat-check attendant remembers Mrs. Moretti’s bag.”
Isabella sat straighter.
“She says a blond woman asked whether the ivory purse belonged to the elderly woman in burgundy.”
Victoria.
Emma did not need anyone to say it.
Vincent asked, “Did the attendant give it to her?”
“No. She said the purse was still on the wheelchair. The woman walked away.”
“So she was locating it.”
“Possibly.”
Emma replayed the moment before the attempted slap.
Victoria had approached Isabella angry.
But maybe not because Isabella embarrassed her.
Maybe because Victoria needed Isabella distracted.
“Was she trying to start a scene?” Emma asked.
Vincent looked at her.
“What?”
“If she wanted everyone watching the argument, someone else could take the purse.”
Isabella’s eyes narrowed.
“Leonard.”
Vincent rubbed his jaw.
“Or anyone working with him.”
Emma noticed a tiny object beneath the edge of Isabella’s wheelchair cushion.
“Wait.”
She crouched.
A pearl-colored piece of metal was wedged beside the wheel.
Emma pulled it free.
Isabella recognized it.
“The clasp.”
“From your purse?”
“Yes.”
Security photographed it before taking it into an evidence envelope.
Vincent watched Emma.
“You notice things.”
“Waitressing.”
He almost smiled.
“People underestimate you.”
“All night.”
At 2:00 a.m., Victoria finally emerged.
Her attorney beside her.
She had regained her composure.
The arrogance had returned too.
Her emerald gown looked untouched.
“Vincent,” she said. “I am leaving.”
He stood near the ballroom doors.
“You tried to strike my mother.”
“I lost my temper after she accused me publicly of financial crimes.”
“You raised your hand.”
“And your employee assaulted me.”
Emma stared.
“I’m not his employee.”
Victoria looked directly at her.
“You won’t be anyone’s employee in this city after tomorrow.”
Vincent stepped between them.
“Careful.”
Victoria gave him a cold smile.
“You think money makes you untouchable because you have more of it than I do.”
“No.”
Vincent’s voice remained low.
“I think evidence makes people touchable.”
Something flashed in Victoria’s eyes.
Fear.
Then disappeared.
“You have no evidence.”
Emma looked at Isabella.
Victoria had said it too quickly.
Vincent heard it too.
“You don’t know what I have.”
Victoria’s attorney touched her elbow.
They left.
At 2:17, Emma checked her phone.
Seventeen missed calls.
Three from Richard Pell.
Four from Naomi.
The rest from unknown numbers.
She opened the first message.
A video filled the screen.
It showed Emma gripping Victoria’s wrist.
Not the raised hand.
Not Isabella recoiling.
Only Emma’s hand around Victoria.
The caption read:
WAITRESS ATTACKS CHICAGO PHILANTHROPIST AT CHARITY GALA.
The clip already had more than one hundred thousand views.
Emma stopped breathing.
Vincent saw her face.
“What?”
She handed him the phone.
His expression darkened.
Isabella whispered, “They moved quickly.”
Another message arrived.
From Richard.
DO NOT COME TO WORK TOMORROW.
Then another.
We are terminating your contract pending legal review.
Emma sat down.
She had defended a woman from being hit.
Three hours later, she had no job.
Naomi called again.
Emma answered.
Her sister was crying.
“Emma, what happened? People are posting our address.”
Vincent turned sharply toward his security chief.
“Get someone to the Carter residence now.”
Emma stood.
“No.”
“This is no longer only about employment.”
“My father is there.”
“Exactly.”
Emma grabbed her coat.
Isabella reached for her.
“Emma.”
She turned.
Isabella looked suddenly ashamed.
“You stepped into something that belonged to us.”
“No,” Emma said. “I stepped between someone’s hand and your face.”
Isabella’s eyes filled.
Emma walked toward the door.
Then security called Vincent’s name.
The chief held up another tablet.
“We recovered one frame from a backup camera.”
It showed Isabella’s wheelchair at 7:47.
Victoria faced her.
Emma was approaching from behind.
And beside the wheelchair, partially hidden by Victoria’s emerald gown, another hand reached down.
A man’s hand.
Wearing a Moretti executive signet ring.
Vincent looked at it.
Only four executives in his company had been given those rings.
One belonged to Leonard Shaw.
Another belonged to Vincent himself.
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The third belonged to a retired partner.
And the fourth belonged to someone who had died two years earlier.
