Chapter 8 - THE LIVESTREAM THEY FORGOT
Brooke denied everything through her lawyer.
So did Diane.
Jason said his mother had "handled paperwork" and he assumed I agreed.
Then Naomi asked one question.
"Who started the birthday livestream?"
Brooke had.
She had wanted relatives in Florida and Arizona to watch Diane blow out her candles.
She forgot the stream saved automatically to her social-media archive.
The version we played in court ended after I left.
The archive didn't.
Fourteen minutes after the elevator closed, the phone was still recording beneath the table.
We heard Diane first.
"That ungrateful bitch planned this."
Brooke said, "What if she goes to the police?"
Jason answered.
"Then we file first. Preston already has the psych report."
My heart stopped.
Diane: "And the money?"
Jason: "Moved. She won't get to it."
Brooke: "What about the camera clips?"
A chair scraped.
Jason lowered his voice.
"Keep the useful ones. Delete the rest."
Then Diane said the sentence that changed the case.
"Once you have Lily, we call the trustee Monday."
Naomi played it twice.
The prosecutor requested a copy.
The family-court judge ordered Jason's financial access restricted immediately.
But that evening, when I returned to my sister Rachel's apartment, the front door was open.
Nothing valuable was missing.
The television remained on the wall. Jewelry sat untouched. Lily's tablet was still charging.
Only one thing had been taken.
My canvas evidence bag.
For a few seconds I stood staring at the empty place where it had been. The bag contained duplicates, not originals, but whoever entered had known exactly where Rachel kept it and exactly which object mattered. They had ignored cash in a desk drawer and a laptop on the couch. This wasn't theft. It was a message.
Rachel whispered, "Emily, how did they know?"
May you like
I thought of every person who had asked where we were staying. Every sympathetic text. Every relative suddenly checking in. The worst part of being betrayed by a family wasn't learning who hated you. It was realizing you could no longer tell who was pretending to care.
And on the kitchen counter, someone had left Diane's white birthday rose.
