Evan said, “You haven’t seen hurt.”
Celeste’s face drained of color.
Evan stood frozen, mouth open, eyes darting toward the board members, the priest, the detective, the cameras visible through the church doors.
Then came the final part.
Emma’s voice, quieter now. “I already sent everything to my mother.”
The recording clicked off.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then Evan erupted.
“She edited that! She was sick! She was obsessed with me!”
I turned to the detective.
“He said that before too,” I said. “On camera. In the hospital hallway. After he told the nurse not to run a toxicology panel.”
The detective nodded.
Evan’s gaze snapped to me.
“You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing,” I said. “I spent thirty years as a fraud investigator before you decided I was just Emma’s quiet mother.”
That was the moment he understood.
