Chapter 12 - Forty-Eight Hours
I called Detective Velez before my mother left the conference room.
Within twenty minutes, the meeting stopped being a family conversation and became a controlled interview.
Velez arrived with Detective Cho.
My mother repeated what Delaney had told her.
She gave them the approximate time of the call.
She gave them the number Delaney used.
She described Delaney as frightened, angry, and whispering.
Then Velez asked the obvious question.
“Where is your daughter now?”
My mother looked at me.
“I don’t know.”
“When did you last see her?”
“Yesterday.”
“At home?”
“At the hotel.”
“Which hotel?”
“The Caldwell residence is attached to the private club where the wedding guests stayed.”
“Did she say she was leaving?”
“No.”
“Did she say Hayes threatened her?”
“Not directly.”
“What exactly did she say?”
My mother closed her eyes and repeated the words.
“If he knows I opened it, I’m screwed.”
Then she had told my mother the password clue.
My father’s birthday.
The call ended when Delaney heard someone entering the room.
She had not answered since.
I expected panic to take over.
Instead, something stranger happened.
My mind became precise.
“What phone was she using?”
Velez looked at me.
“You said it was not her usual number.”
My mother nodded.
“I think it was a hotel phone.”
“Could she be at the club?”
“Maybe.”
Detective Cho stepped into the hallway to make calls.
Velez asked my mother whether Delaney had any history of disappearing during arguments.
My mother said no.
Whether Hayes had ever been violent.
My mother said not that she had seen.
Whether Delaney had expressed fear of him before.
My mother hesitated.
That hesitation made my stomach drop.
“What?” I asked.
She looked at Velez.
“About a month ago, she said Hayes scared her when he got angry.”
“What did that mean?”
“She said he never hit her.”
“That is not what I asked.”
My mother rubbed her hands together.
“She said he would stand in doorways and keep arguing until she agreed with him.”
“Did he threaten her?”
“She said he threatened to cancel the wedding documentary if she did not cooperate.”
I stared at her.
“You knew this?”
“She told me not to interfere.”
“You always interfere.”
My mother flinched.
That was unfair and true at the same time.
Detective Velez pulled the conversation back.
“Did she ever say he controlled her devices?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“During wedding planning.”
“He handled passwords because of production security.”
Velez and Cho exchanged a look when he returned.
Then Cho spoke.
“Hotel security confirms Delaney left the private club at 8:12 this morning.”
My chest loosened slightly.
“With Hayes?”
“No.”
“Where did she go?”
“They do not know.”
“Car?”
“Rideshare pickup.”
“Destination?”
“Requesting it.”
At least she had left on her own feet.
That mattered.
But the password clue still sat in the room.
My father’s birthday.
Velez asked if I knew what account it referred to.
“No.”
“Private server?”
“That’s what Mom said.”
“Do not attempt to access it.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
Martin cleared his throat.
“If the account contains Mercer Hospitality documents, there may be a corporate right of access.”
Cho looked at him.
“Let us establish ownership before anyone logs into anything.”
Martin nodded.
Everyone was suddenly careful around the invisible line between evidence and intrusion.
Then Velez received a call.
She listened.
Her expression tightened.
“Understood.”
She ended it.
“We have another problem.”
I almost laughed.
“That phrase should be on my family crest.”
She did not smile.
“The cloud service used by Caldwell House Media has responded to our preservation request.”
“Good.”
“Partially.”
“What does partially mean?”
“The active production workspace is preserved.”
“And?”
“There is an archive tier scheduled for automated deletion.”
“When?”
“Forty-eight hours.”
My stomach dropped.
“Can’t you stop it?”
“We are seeking the necessary process.”
“You already sent preservation.”
“The provider says the archive is held by a separate subcontractor in another jurisdiction.”
“That sounds intentionally complicated.”
“It may simply be how their storage is structured.”
“What is in the archive?”
“We don’t know.”
“Why does it matter?”
“Lena says raw footage was mirrored there during production testing.”
“Camera three?”
“Possibly all cameras.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
The surviving proxy files were low resolution and incomplete.
The archive could contain original audio.
Original video.
Maybe the moments before the tiara incident.
Maybe Hayes discussing the plan.
Maybe my mother’s words after she pricked her finger.
Maybe the person who took the bloody crown.
“How do we get it?”
“Warrant and provider cooperation.”
“How long?”
“We are working on it.”
“You have forty-eight hours.”
“So does everyone else.”
The sentence landed heavily.
If Hayes knew about the archive, he also knew the clock.
If the deletion was automatic, he could do nothing and watch evidence vanish on schedule.
If investigators moved too slowly, no one would have to press a delete button.
The system would do it for them.
That afternoon, the rideshare company located Delaney’s destination.
She had been dropped at a suburban shopping center fifteen miles away.
Security cameras showed her entering a coffee shop.
Then leaving through a side exit twenty minutes later.
After that, nothing.
Her phone remained off.
My mother started calling every hospital in the area.
I wanted to be angry at Delaney.
I was angry at Delaney.
She had admitted wanting me humiliated.
She had forced the crown down.
She had lied after I left.
She had helped turn my pain into a media strategy.
But fear did not ask permission from anger.
She was still my sister.
I still pictured her at age six sleeping beside me during thunderstorms.
I still remembered teaching her to drive.
I still remembered her sobbing into my coat at our father’s funeral.
People could be cruel and still matter to you.
That was the most inconvenient truth in my life.
At 7:00 p.m., Velez called again.
“The warrant application is moving.”
“How fast?”
“Not fast enough for my taste.”
That was the closest I had heard her come to frustration.
“What can I do?”
“Nothing with the archive.”
“What about Delaney?”
“If she contacts you, keep her talking and alert us.”
“Can I call her?”
“You can call your sister.”
“But do not threaten, coach, or ask her to retrieve evidence.”
I tried every number I had.
No answer.
At 9:16 p.m., an unknown caller rang.
I answered immediately.
“Sloan?”
It was Delaney.
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Are you safe?”
“I don’t know.”
My entire body went cold.
“Call the police.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because Hayes has people watching who I contact.”
“Delaney, listen to me.”
“No, you listen.”
Her breathing was fast.
“I found the file.”
“What file?”
“The one with your name.”
“What is in it?”
“Everything.”
“That tells me nothing.”
“It has clips of you from before the wedding.”
“What clips?”
“Private things.”
My stomach tightened.
“What private things?”
“You at work.”
“You leaving your apartment.”
“You arguing with Mom.”
“You at Dad’s grave.”
I went completely still.
“How did Hayes get video of me at Dad’s grave?”
“I don’t know.”
“I was alone.”
“I know.”
Fear moved through me in a new form.
This was not wedding planning.
Someone had been watching me long before the ballroom.
“What else?”
“There are notes.”
“What notes?”
“Trigger topics.”
“Pressure points.”
“Times you’re alone.”
I gripped the edge of the table.
“Did you know about this?”
“No.”
“Delaney.”
“I knew he was researching you for the documentary.”
“That is not research.”
“I know that now.”
Her voice broke.
“I swear I didn’t know about the surveillance.”
“Where is the file?”
“I copied some of it.”
“Where?”
“I can’t tell you on the phone.”
“Then go to police.”
“I said I can’t.”
A sound occurred on her end.
A door.
Voices.
Delaney whispered faster.
“Sloan, the archive has the audio.”
“What audio?”
“The rehearsal.”
“What rehearsal?”
“The crown test.”
My breath stopped.
“You tested it?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
She started crying.
“Mom.”
My eyes closed.
“What happened?”
“She told Hayes it was too sharp.”
The room around me disappeared.
“She said that?”
“Yes.”
“And Hayes?”
“He told her it needed to hold.”
“And you?”
“I wasn’t there for the whole thing.”
“Did you know before you put it on me?”
Delaney sobbed once.
“Sloan, I need you to understand.”
“Answer me.”
A man’s voice sounded faintly in the background.
Delaney inhaled sharply.
“I have to go.”
“Delaney, answer me.”
The line went dead.
Ten seconds later, a text arrived.
I knew it would hurt.
May you like
I did not know it would go through skin.
THE JEWELED TIARA
