Chapter 4: The Name on the Document
The name on the document was my own.
Emma Carter.
I stared at it.
Then I laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because sometimes your brain rejects impossible things before fear takes over.
“No.””
Vincent watched me carefully.
“That’s impossible.””
“I’ve never accessed your mother’s files.””
“I know.””
The certainty in his voice surprised me.
“Then why is my name there?””
He didn’t answer.
That scared me more.
I picked up the folder.
The record showed a login from the hotel’s internal system.
A guest database.
A security archive.
All connected to the Langford gala.
My name appeared as the person who requested access.
But I hadn’t.
“I don’t even know how to get into a system like this.””
Vincent believed me.
I could see that.
But someone wanted it to look like I had done it.
“Why frame me?””
Vincent looked toward the window.
“Because you are the perfect target.””
The words hurt.
Not because they were cruel.
Because they were true.
A waitress.
No influence.
No powerful family.
No reputation to protect.
Someone people would believe was guilty.
I looked down.
“So Victoria did this?””
“Maybe.””
“Maybe?””
Vincent turned back.
“I have learned not to accuse people without proof.””
I almost smiled.
“That’s probably why you’re successful.””
His expression softened slightly.
“Success has less to do with intelligence than people think.””
“What does it have to do with?””
“Knowing who is lying.””
Before I could respond, my phone rang.
My father.
I answered immediately.
“Dad?””
His voice was weak.
“Emma?””
“What’s wrong?””
“I saw the news.””
My heart sank.
“I’m sorry.””
“Don’t apologize.””
“I might lose my job.””
A pause.
Then he said something that made my throat tighten.
“Your mother would have been proud.””
I closed my eyes.
My mother had died when Lily was twelve.
She was the person who taught me that kindness mattered even when nobody rewarded it.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Dad.””
“Yes, you do.””
“How?””
“Because you’re still standing.””
After the call ended, I wiped my eyes.
Vincent pretended not to notice.
That somehow made it easier.
A few hours later, we returned to the hotel.
The place looked different in daylight.
Less magical.
More honest.
Vincent wanted to review security records.
I wanted answers.
We entered the surveillance room with two security employees.
The footage played.
Minute after minute.
Then something appeared.
A woman entering a restricted hallway.
Wearing a server uniform.
My uniform.
My breath caught.
“That’s not me.””
Vincent nodded.
“I know.””
The woman turned toward the camera.
Her face became visible.
And my blood went cold.
Because I knew her.
“Claire?””
The waitress from the night before.
My coworker.
My friend.
Vincent paused the video.
“Who is she?””
I couldn’t answer.
Because I didn’t understand.
Claire had laughed with me.
She had told me I was brave.
She had stood beside me.
Why would she betray me?
The door suddenly opened.
One of Vincent’s guards rushed in.
“Mr. Moretti.””
“What now?””
The guard looked at me.
Then away.
“Victoria Langford is outside.””
Vincent’s expression hardened.
“She wants to speak with you.””
“About what?””
The guard swallowed.
“She says she knows who really attacked Isabella Moretti.””
The room became silent.
Vincent looked at me.
I looked at the frozen image of Claire on the screen.
Then the guard spoke again.
“She brought someone with her.””
“Who?””
The guard hesitated.
May you like
Then said:
“Emma Carter’s father.””
