Chapter 3 - THE PERSON WHO FRAMED GRACE KNEW SHE NEEDED MONEY BEFORE GRACE EVER ENTERED THE BALLROOM
Grace’s face appeared on television before sunrise.
Someone had found an old employee photograph from the temp agency.
In it, she was smiling.
That somehow made the story worse.
A smiling photograph beside the words POISONING INVESTIGATION looks guilty in a uniquely American way.
By seven in the morning, Grace’s staffing agency had suspended her.
Not fired.
Suspended.
Legal distinction.
Financially identical.
Her supervisor left a voicemail.
“Until things calm down.”
Things.
Grace sat beside her mother’s hospital bed listening to it.
Helen Miller was fifty-eight.
Thin after months of treatment.
A knitted cap covered most of the hair she had lost.
She watched Grace’s face carefully.
“You’re in trouble.”
Grace put her phone away.
“I’m being questioned.”
“Different.”
“Mom.”
“You look like your father did when he totaled my Buick and tried to tell me he’d parked creatively.”
Grace laughed despite herself.
Then cried.
Helen held out one hand.
“Come here.”
Grace sat.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“I know.”
“You cannot possibly know.”
“I raised you.”
“That is emotionally compelling and legally useless.”
Helen smiled.
“That sounds like something a lawyer said.”
“Her name is Rachel Kim.”
“Dominic gave me three names.”
“I chose the one who had sued one of his companies before.”
Helen raised an eyebrow.
“Smart.”
“Seemed independent.”
Rachel Kim had met Grace at six that morning.
No makeup.
Two coffees.
Aggressive questions.
Grace liked her immediately.
Rachel’s first instruction:
Stop talking to reporters.
Second:
Do not accept money from Dominic.
Third:
Do not destroy anything.
Fourth:
Write down every detail from the gala while memory remained fresh.
That was how Grace remembered the silver lapel pin.
She had been reconstructing the seating area when it returned.
A male server clearing Margaret’s table.
Not Brian Keller.
Someone else.
Black jacket.
White shirt.
A tiny silver compass pin near his collar.
Grace had noticed because banquet uniforms did not allow jewelry.
She had almost told him to remove it.
Then Victoria approached Margaret.
The argument began.
Grace forgot.
Rachel passed the information to Detective Torres.
By noon, police had identified the man.
Marcus Vale.
Thirty-one.
Not related to Victoria.
A catering-floor captain hired through the gala’s primary hospitality contractor.
He had been assigned upstairs.
Not Margaret’s section.
His personnel file photograph showed the same silver compass pin.
Marcus had not returned home after the gala.
His phone was off.
His car remained parked near the hotel.
Then another fact surfaced.
Brian Keller—the supervisor who lied about Grace remaining assigned to Margaret’s table—had received a $12,000 payment three days before the gala from a consulting company named Ashland Risk Management.
Keller claimed it was repayment of a private loan.
Investigators did not believe him.
Grace believed him even less.
Then Rachel called at two.
“I need you sitting down.”
Grace was already sitting.
“What?”
“The temp agency gave police your application record.”
“Okay.”
“Someone accessed it four days before the gala.”
Grace froze.
“What information?”
“Address.”
“Emergency contact.”
“Payroll.”
“And a benefits note.”
Grace’s mouth went dry.
“What benefits note?”
“You requested additional shifts because of family medical expenses.”
Of course.
The temp coordinator had added it when Grace begged for more work.
Employee requests priority for overtime due dependent medical costs.
Someone knew she was financially desperate before she served one drink.
Rachel continued.
“The access came through an administrator account.”
“Whose?”
“Brian Keller’s event company.”
Grace closed her eyes.
The frame had been prepared.
Broke waitress.
Medical debt.
Assigned to Margaret.
Last known server.
Perfect.
“Did he choose me?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Grace looked toward her mother.
Helen had fallen asleep.
Her chest rose slowly beneath the blanket.
Grace whispered:
“I wasn’t just convenient after it happened.”
“No.”
Rachel said.
“It looks like somebody may have selected you in advance.”
Fear arrived differently this time.
Not as panic.
Cold.
Personal.
Someone had read about her mother.
Looked at her address.
Saw debt.
Then placed Grace beside an elderly woman someone intended to poison.
A nurse entered.
Grace lowered her voice.
“What do I do?”
“Nothing alone.”
Rachel said.
“Police know.”
“Stay where people know where you are.”
“Do not go to your apartment by yourself.”
Grace frowned.
“My apartment?”
“If someone framed you using employment records, assume they know where you live.”
That sentence followed Grace for the next three hours.
At five, she finally left the hospital with her mother’s permission.
Helen would remain overnight.
Grace refused Dominic’s driver.
She took a rideshare.
Then changed destinations halfway after noticing a dark sedan remain behind them for six blocks.
Maybe coincidence.
Maybe not.
Grace called Detective Torres.
The sedan disappeared after the driver turned toward a police station.
Good decision.
At six forty, Grace met Rachel at her apartment building.
Two officers waited.
Her door was unlocked.
Grace stopped.
“I locked it.”
Torres arrived ten minutes later.
Nothing obvious stolen.
Laptop remained.
Television remained.
Cash jar untouched.
Someone had searched.
Drawer contents rearranged.
Closet disturbed.
The folded copy of Helen’s treatment schedule was gone.
So was the gala employee packet Grace had tossed onto the counter before work.
Torres looked toward her.
“Anything else?”
Grace scanned the room.
Then saw the kitchen table.
A white cocktail napkin lay in the center.
Not hers.
Embossed gold letters.
HALSTON CIVIC FOUNDATION GALA
Grace’s skin chilled.
On top of it sat one small silver compass pin.
Marcus’s.
Message.
Or planted evidence.
Torres immediately stopped her from touching anything.
Dominic arrived forty minutes later.
Grace was furious.
“I did not call you.”
“No.”
He remained in the hallway.
“Detective Torres did.”
Grace looked at her.
Torres did not apologize.
“This now involves the same security investigation.”
Dominic’s gaze went to Grace.
“Are you safe?”
“I am standing in my hallway with six armed people.”
“That was not the question.”
She hated that he sounded genuinely concerned.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Then he looked toward the apartment.
“Stay somewhere else tonight.”
Grace crossed her arms.
“Are you ordering me?”
“No.”
He took a breath.
“Suggesting.”
“Strongly.”
“Still sounds like an order.”
Dominic nodded.
“Where do you want to go?”
“My mother’s hospital.”
“No.”
His response came too fast.
Grace’s eyes narrowed.
Dominic corrected.
“Sorry.”
He visibly forced himself to restart.
“If someone targeted you, the hospital is public and your mother is vulnerable.”
“That concerns me.”
“But you decide.”
Better.
Grace looked toward Rachel.
“Hotel?”
Rachel nodded.
“Under my firm’s reservation.”
“Not DeLuca.”
Dominic accepted it.
Then Grace said:
“And I want police notified of where I am.”
“Yes.”
“No DeLuca security inside my floor unless I agree.”
He hesitated.
Grace lifted one eyebrow.
“Yes.”
He answered.
Progress.
Then Margaret called.
Dominic put the phone on speaker because Grace agreed.
Margaret’s voice sounded stronger.
“Grace?”
“Yes.”
“Dominic tells me someone broke into your apartment.”
“He tells you everything?”
“No.”
Margaret said dryly.
“He tries not to.”
Grace almost smiled.
Then Margaret became serious.
“I need to tell you something.”
Dominic frowned.
“Ma.”
“She should know.”
Grace waited.
Margaret said:
“The argument with Victoria was not the first strange thing last night.”
“What happened?”
“Before you served me my second sparkling water, Angelo sat beside me.”
Dominic became still.
“What did Uncle Angelo want?”
“My vote.”
Margaret answered.
“He told me the South River sale had to happen Monday.”
“I told him no.”
“He said delays would cost people more than money.”
Grace felt cold.
“What does that mean?”
“I asked.”
“He smiled.”
Margaret’s voice hardened.
“Then he said Dominic had become too sentimental about that property because his father built the first warehouses there.”
Dominic’s face changed.
The South River land was not merely valuable.
It was history.
Margaret continued.
“I told Angelo the land would not be sold to Sinclair.”
“Ten minutes later, Victoria confronted me.”
“Twenty minutes after that, I collapsed.”
Silence.
Dominic looked toward Torres.
“Get Angelo’s movements.”
Torres’s expression hardened.
“You don’t direct my investigation.”
He stopped.
Grace almost laughed.
Margaret did.
Good.
Then Margaret said:
“Grace, there’s another reason I called.”
“Yes?”
“You need to stop worrying that Dominic believes you poisoned me.”
Grace looked toward him.
His face remained unreadable.
Margaret continued.
“He did for approximately eleven minutes.”
Dominic closed his eyes.
“Ma.”
Grace stared.
“Eleven?”
“Maybe twelve.”
Dominic rubbed his forehead.
“Thank you.”
Margaret sounded pleased.
“I raised you to tell the truth.”
Grace looked at him.
He met her eyes.
“I considered it.”
He said.
“You were the last server I knew had handled her drinks.”
“You had financial pressure.”
“And you were unknown to me.”
Grace folded her arms.
“Comforting.”
“I also told police not to treat suspicion as proof.”
“Then the sparkling-water detail changed the timeline.”
Grace watched him.
No fake instant trust.
Oddly, that felt better than romantic nonsense.
“You thought I might have done it.”
“Yes.”
“And now?”
“No.”
“How sure?”
Dominic did not hesitate.
“Enough that anyone trying to hurt you to protect this frame becomes my problem.”
Grace’s expression hardened.
“Careful.”
“What?”
“I’m not becoming your property because somebody framed me.”
Dominic went quiet.
Then:
“Understood.”
He looked almost annoyed with himself.
“My problem was the wrong phrase.”
“Very.”
“My responsibility?”
“No.”
“Concern?”
Grace thought.
“Allowed.”
Dominic nodded.
“Concern.”
Torres’s phone rang.
She listened.
Then her expression changed.
“They found Marcus.”
Everyone froze.
“Where?”
Grace asked.
“Cook County Hospital.”
“Someone dumped him outside the emergency entrance early this morning.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Barely.”
Torres looked at Dominic.
“He was drugged.”
Then Grace.
“And before he lost consciousness again, he gave officers three words.”
“What?”
May you like
Torres answered:
“Ask about Angelo.”
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