Chapter Twenty-Four Justice
Ephram
“Take him to the office,” I told the police officer who stepped forward. “He stays there, no contact from anyone else except me. You are to be with him at all times.”
Gavin Wickham’s expression shifted just enough to register irritation. Not fear and no surprise which was a curious reaction. Perhaps he still thought this was a misunderstanding he could talk his way out of.
“I haven’t done anything,” he said mildly. “This is all rather dramatic.”
“You’re being detained. Please go over your whereabouts during the evening with the officer,” I replied evenly.
“What if I want a lawyer?” he asked.
“You could, however, as I said, you’re not being arrested just yet,” I told him.
The word yet landed. His smile thinned, though he covered it quickly, straightening his jacket as if this were an inconvenience rather than a turning point.
“Of course,” he said. “Whatever you need.”
I watched the other officer escort him away, his posture loose, cooperative, already crafting the version of himself he intended to present if anyone asked. I waited until he was out of sight before turning my attention fully to the problem in front of me.
Carly stood nearby, arms folded tightly across her torso, her face pale beneath the glow of the chandeliers. She was holding herself together through force of will alone.
“We’re going to find it,” I said quietly.
She nodded once. “I know. I just… this can’t turn into a spectacle. The Hale family has a reputation to uphold.”
“I understand. I put up extra cameras and we are going to get to the bottom of this,” I said, and this time it wasn’t reassurance, it was certainty.
“You put up extra cameras? Who authorized that?” Carly wanted to know.
“I did, through the department with the belief that the same person who took money from the Bennets would likely try again from you,” I mentioned. “If you will excuse me.”
I went down the hall toward the monitoring room, the sound of the gala dulling behind me with each step. Screens lined the walls, each one capturing a different angle of the night in progress.
The donation cart filled one of the central monitors.
It sat exactly where it was supposed to. Near the ballroom entrance. Draped neatly with cloth. Guarded by a rotating member of the security team.
At first glance, there was nothing wrong.
“That’s what I don’t understand,” the head of security said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “The box was never unattended. Someone was always nearby.”
“Start from the beginning,” I said. “Slow it down.”
The footage rewound. Guests arriving. Staff moving through with trays. The cart was visible in the background of nearly every frame, a constant presence. Security members stepped in and out, exchanging brief words, checking radios, alert but relaxed.
Wickham appeared several times.
Always casually. Always within the normal flow of the event. He spoke to donors. He laughed at someone’s joke, accepted a drink from the staff, and he passed the cart more than once without stopping.
I leaned closer to the screen.
“Pause there,” I said.
The image froze on a moment that looked insignificant at first. Gavin mid-step. One hand extended slightly, palm open.
“What happened next,” I asked.
The footage resumed.
He bumped the cart.
Just barely. Enough to register. The security member closest to it turned instinctively, looking around and seeing nothing wrong as the box was there. Gavin smiled, said something I couldn’t hear, and lingered.
“Back it up,” I said.
Frame by frame now. The head of security adjusted the playback speed, and the room grew quiet except for the soft clicking of controls.
Gavin’s hand brushed the edge of the cloth as he continued to chat with the member of the security team who was tasked with guarding the box.
His body angled slightly, blocking the view from the camera mounted higher on the wall.
He leaned in, speaking to the security member, charming and distracting her.
There.
I saw it.
“Hold,” I said.
The cloth lifted just enough. His fingers disappeared beneath it, not into the main box, but lower. A movement that didn’t match the shape of the cart.
“That’s not right,” I murmured.
We switched camera angles. Another view, lower, partially obscured by a floral arrangement. It showed the underside of the cart more clearly.
There had to be a second container on that cart attached to the lower shelf.
“Go see if the donation box had a false bottom,” I said to the security team member at my elbow. “Forward the footage and find out where that cart is right now.”
We followed the cart’s path through the evening. Each time it moved, each time staff repositioned it, then when it was no longer needed after the box was taken by Carly’s staff to the office and someone wheeled it away.
We tracked the cart’s final movement toward a service corridor where it was parked in a storage area.
“There,” I said. “That’s where it goes.”
I pulled out my phone, already dialing. “I need officers in the service wing. Storage corridor near the east elevators to secure a wheeled cart with a white cloth draped on it..”
As I ended the call, my gaze flicked back to the monitor. The gala continued uninterrupted on the screen while Lydia stood near the edge of the ballroom, shoulders squared, her expression composed despite the impatience as she tapped a finger against her dress.
She had stood her ground and while she didn’t like it, she was trusting me to see this through.
On the next monitor, I saw a police officer secure the cart. He called me on the phone. “I have the cart.”
“Pull back the cloth and check if there is a box on the bottom shelf,” I instructed.
On the screen, the officer followed directions, revealing a box.
“I want everything photographed, and videoed. Check to see if the money and donations are there,” I instructed.
“I have the box here,” the other officer I sent to get the box brought it into the monitoring station room. “It has a false bottom.”
“The box has envelopes in it. Donations for the charity,” the officer on the phone confirmed.
“Secure it,” I said. “Be careful of fingerprints. I want forensics called."
If we could get a fingerprint, with the video footage, we had a solid case.
As they worked, I took a step back and let the tension drain just enough for clarity to settle. Wickham hadn’t rushed or drawn attention to himself. He had relied on his charm and ability to talk himself out of almost any situation.
He wasn’t going to be able to talk himself out of this situation, I grimly decided. “Download a copy of all the footage from tonight.”
I headed back toward the front office where Wickham had been detained.
He was seated in a chair, ankles crossed, and hands folded neatly in his lap. He looked up as I entered, his smile polite and strained.
“Any progress?” he asked lightly.
“Yes,” I said.
I placed a tablet on the desk between us and turned it so he could see.
The footage played without commentary. His casual bump. His laugh as he distracted the security staff member. His hand slipped beneath the cloth, opening the false bottom and putting envelopes in the second box on the cart.
He watched without interrupting, his expression shifting in slow increments. First confusion, then calculation. Finally there was resignation, masked by irritation.
“Well,” he said finally. “That’s unfortunate.”
“You’re under arrest,” I replied. “For theft, fraud, and evidence tampering.”
His shoulders slumped just a fraction. “I’m going to get a good lawyer. I will have this thrown out.”
“I doubt it,” I said.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again, as if weighing his options and finding none of them workable. The charm didn’t return this time. “I want my lawyer.”
“You can call him as soon as you get to the station,” I told him.
As officers escorted him out, I stepped aside, going to find Carly to give her a quick update. She was mingling with guests, but when seeing me, immediately excused herself.
“Did you find it?” she whispered as she came close.
“It’s found. We are processing it for evidence currently. We have the individual going to the police station,” I assured her.
“Thank goodness,” Carly breathed a sigh of relief. “I can’t believe this happened. Do I know who did it?”
“We can talk about that later. I would like to get your statement after the event is over,” I mentioned.
“Absolutely,” Carly nodded. She looked over to where the mayor of Maple Ridge was waving at her. “I suppose I should go see what that is about.”
The next person I went to see was more important to me.
I found Lydia near the edge of the ballroom where I had left her, her posture composed but tight, like a wire pulled too far. She looked up when she saw me, reading my face for information.
“It was him,” she said.
“Yes.”
Her breath left her in a slow rush. “You found the money?”
“Yes.”
She stared at me for a second longer, then nodded, once, sharply, as if anchoring herself. “That’s good.”
I gestured toward a quieter corner near the windows. “Come with me.”
We stopped just far enough from the crowd that voices blurred into background noise. The lights reflected faintly in the glass, snow falling beyond them in soft, steady patterns.
“I owe you an explanation,” I said.
Her jaw tightened. “Yes. You do.”
I told her everything. The tracker in the envelope and the extra cameras I had set up in the hopes of catching Wickham. How long we had been watching to see if he would dare try to steal money from the gala.
She listened without interrupting, her expression shifting as understanding replaced hurt piece by piece.
“You couldn’t tell me,” she said finally.
“No,” I agreed. “If he knew he was being watched, he would have changed tactics or disappeared. Plus, you were a part of the investigation since he had stolen from you as well.”
She looked down at her hands. “I thought you didn’t trust me.”
I shook my head. “I trusted you from the beginning. That was the problem.”
Her gaze snapped back to mine. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It does,” I said quietly. “I trusted your instincts. I trusted that you were right about him. I trusted that you would step into the line of fire if you thought it would stop him which would put our investigation in trouble.”
She swallowed. “So you decided to protect me by not telling me.”
“I decided to protect the case,” I said. “And also you.”
She exhaled, slow and shaky. “I hate that I understand that.”
“There’s more,” I added.
Her eyebrows drew together. “More?”
“I contacted computer forensics to revisit the ticketing platform from your family’s Christmas dance. The one Wickham helped set up where he stole the sales money from,” I explained.
Her face went very still.
“They found the digital trail with redirected payments to an account. The account is closed but it was in his name,” I continued.
“Can we get the money back?” she asked quietly.
“No,” I admitted. “It’s gone.”
She nodded once, absorbing that without flinching. “But he’s guilty.”
“Yes,” I said. “Two separate crimes that we can prove. He’s facing real time.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again, something steadier settling behind them. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For believing me,” she said simply.
The music swelled again behind us, a cue for dancing, for celebration, for pretending the night had never wavered. I found myself reluctant to let the moment pass.
“There’s something else,” I said.
She tilted her head. “I was beginning to think you were done surprising me.”
“Now that the investigation is soon to be over,” I said carefully, “I’m allowed to say things I wasn’t before.”
Her breath caught, just barely.
“I would like to see you,” I said. “Not as part of a case. Just because I want to.”
She studied my face for a long second, then smiled. “I would like that.”
The gala continued around us, none the wiser, lights and music and laughter weaving back together like the night had planned it this way all along.