Chapter 8 - THE FIRST LIE
Detective Mason interviewed Brandon at the villa before sunset.
I learned the details later.
Brandon said I had become unstable after discovering his affair.
He claimed I threatened to expose him.
He said I paced near the railing.
He said I slipped.
Margaret supported every word.
Then Detective Mason asked a simple question.
“Did you touch your wife before she fell?”
Brandon answered.
“No.”
Margaret answered.
“Absolutely not.”
That was their first major mistake.
The villa had cameras.
Not on the balcony itself.
Margaret had disabled that one after loosening the railing.
But the interior hallway camera caught reflections in the glass doors.
Not perfectly.
Enough.
It showed Brandon following me onto the balcony.
It showed Margaret entering.
It showed my silhouette moving backward.
It showed Brandon’s arms extend.
Then my reflection disappeared.
Detective Mason watched it twice.
“Interesting.”
Brandon’s attorney ended the interview.
At the hospital, doctors confirmed three cracked ribs.
A dislocated shoulder.
A fractured wrist.
A concussion.
Cuts.
Bruising.
No spinal injury.
No internal bleeding requiring surgery.
I had been unbelievably lucky.
The detective sat beside my bed.
“Mrs. Carter.”
He said.
“Your husband is saying you fell.”
I looked at him.
“He’s lying.”
“I know you believe that.”
“I don’t believe it.”
I pointed toward the sealed evidence bag.
“I recorded him before he pushed me.”
Mason looked at the USB.
“We’ll need a warrant process and chain of custody.”
“Take it.”
He documented everything.
Then I remembered something.
“My jacket.”
“What?”
“I was wearing a denim jacket.”
A nurse checked.
“It was cut off in trauma.”
“Where is it?”
“Property storage.”
I looked at Mason.
“There’s something sewn into the inner hem.”
His eyebrows rose.
“What?”
“A microSD card.”
He stared at me.
“How many backups did you make?”
“Enough.”
The card contained the audio recording from Brandon’s office.
Not the financial files.
Just Margaret’s voice.
Accidents happen.
The detective’s face changed when I told him.
“You recorded a discussion about an accidental death before your fall?”
“Yes.”
“How long before?”
“Four days.”
He stood.
“I need that jacket.”
As he reached the door, my hospital room phone rang.
I picked up.
No one spoke.
Then Margaret’s voice whispered.
May you like
“You should have died.”
The line went dead.
