Chapter 1 - The Red Light Above the Door
The sirens reached the Whitmore Hotel before Preston could answer me.
Two paramedics rushed into the ballroom carrying a trauma bag and a stretcher.
The crowd finally moved.
Not to help.
To get out of the way.
I pressed a folded linen napkin against the side of Sophie’s head while one paramedic knelt beside us.
“What happened?”
“She was struck with that.”
I pointed toward the oak menu board lying near the entrance.
The paramedic looked at Preston.
Then at the board.
Then back at Sophie.
“Did she lose consciousness?”
“For a few seconds.”
Preston interrupted.
“She stole my phone and I lost my temper.”
The paramedic stared at him.
My father stepped closer.
“It was an accident.”
“No.”
My voice came out sharper than I expected.
“It was not.”
Preston glared at me.
“Evelyn.”
I looked at him.
“You raised the board.”
“You swung it.”
“You hit an eight-year-old child.”
His bride, Natalie, finally spoke.
“Can we please not do this here?”
I almost laughed.
Sophie was bleeding in my arms and Natalie was still worried about where the argument happened.
Then two Chicago police officers entered behind hotel security.
The first officer looked at Sophie.
The second looked at Preston.
“Everyone stay where you are.”
My mother immediately moved toward the officer.
“There has been a terrible misunderstanding.”
I stood.
“No misunderstanding.”
Sophie clung to me.
The officer noticed.
“Ma’am, we’ll need statements.”
“You’ll get mine.”
Preston’s voice rose.
“She stole from me.”
The hotel security director turned toward him.
“Sir.”
Preston snapped.
“What?”
The director pointed toward the ceiling.
“You should probably stop talking.”
Preston followed his finger.
The camera above the ballroom entrance blinked red.
For the first time, real fear appeared on my brother’s face.
Not anger.
Fear.
One officer noticed.
“Is that camera recording?”
The security director nodded.
“Continuous coverage.”
Preston’s attorney was not at the wedding.
That was unfortunate for him.
Because before anyone could stop him, he said:
“That camera can’t see the tables.”
The officer slowly turned.
“How do you know?”
Preston froze.
I did too.
He had just answered a question nobody had asked.
The security director looked at me.
“The ballroom has six cameras.”
Preston’s face went white.
“Six?”
“Yes.”
“One covers the entrance.”
“One covers the head table.”
“Two cover the dance floor.”
“And two cover the guest seating sections.”
I looked toward Sophie’s denim jacket.
Then toward Preston.
He had believed he chose the one place nobody could prove what happened.
He had been wrong.
The paramedics placed Sophie on the stretcher.
I climbed into the ambulance beside her.
Before the doors closed, I saw police escort Preston away from the guests.
My mother was crying now.
Not for Sophie.
For Preston.
And above all of them, six small red lights kept blinking.
May you like
Quietly preserving the truth.
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