Chapter 3 - FOUR MISSING MINUTES
"Preserve everything," Owen told the security manager. "Nobody touches another file."
He hung up and stood at the hospital window, staring into the parking lot.
"Don't do that," I said.
"Do what?"
"Go quiet because your sister is involved. I've watched you do it for six years."
He turned. "I am not defending her."
"You haven't said you believe me."
He looked down at the paper cup in his hand. "I believe something terrible happened."
"Something? Owen, I was at the bottom of a pool."
Our marriage had survived my accident, or so I'd thought. He drove me to therapy and learned how to fold the wheelchair. But when his sister made jokes about my condition, he called them jokes. When she moved my ramps without asking, he told me she meant well. I wondered how many warnings I'd swallowed to keep peace in his family.
A detective named Nora Ellis arrived after midnight. She listened without interrupting. She photographed the bruising on my arm and asked me to describe Serena's hands on the chair. I told her exactly what I remembered, even the orange-blossom perfume.
"You don't have to make a perfect statement tonight," she said. "We'll collect the other accounts."
Tessa had already given hers. So had two guests, though neither had seen the moment at the edge.
The next morning, Owen brought me a folder. Inside were printed invoices from Bennett House, his family's hotel. I had requested them weeks ago because something didn't add up in our accessibility-renovation budget.
"Why are you showing me this now?" I asked.
"Serena called my office at five this morning. She wanted these shredded."
I pulled out the top invoice. The same contractor had billed for a wheelchair lift that had never been installed.
The charge was $186,000.
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A handwritten note at the bottom read: APPROVED - MIA BENNETT.
"That's not my signature," I said.
