Chapter 151
She turned to look at Zack. He had slumped back onto a velvet bench, head in his hands, a young woman from the orchestra rubbing his back in slow circles.
And then Jocelyn saw it.
A small movement. Zack lifted his head just slightly, and beneath the drape of his jacket, his hand held his phone. The screen cast a faint blue glow across his wet cheek.
His thumb was scrolling. Tap. Scroll. Tap.
He wasn’t calling a lawyer. He wasn’t calling his mother.
He was checking his engagement metrics.
𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝗍𝗁𝘦 𝗅a𝗍еs𝗍 𝘁𝘳eո𝖽ѕ 𝗈ո 𝗴а𝘭𝗇𝘰𝘃𝘦𝗹ѕ.𝖼𝘰𝘮
The realization settled in Jocelyn’s stomach like cold lead. Real victims don’t monitor their social media three minutes after their world ends. Real victims are catatonic. They don’t multitask.
“Lock down the exits,” she said quietly to the Head of Security, who had just arrived, breathless. “No one leaves with a case. No one leaves with a bag larger than a purse.”
“You can’t hold us hostage!” a woman clutching a viola case shouted from the crowd.
“It’s for your protection,” Jocelyn said, turning to address the room. “If the thief is still in the building, we want to catch them. Please bear with us.”
Across the street, in the warm, dim light of the café, Aspen Schneider sat by the window with an oat milk latte.
She watched the police lights reflect off the wet pavement. She watched the guests pressing their faces against the hotel glass.
A slow, satisfied smile settled on her lips — not a happy smile, but the smile of someone who had just won a hand of poker by cheating.
She typed a text to Kieran: It’s worse than I thought. The police are swarming the place. Jocelyn looks completely out of her depth.
She hit send, then opened Instagram and refreshed the feed. Zack’s photo of the broken violin neck had ten thousand likes in ten minutes. The hashtag #WolfeHotelUnsafe was already trending.
“Checkmate,” she whispered to her empty cup.
Back in the lobby, Detective Miller was interviewing Harvey.
“The camera in the hallway,” Miller said, pen hovering. “Was it recording?”
Harvey, who had returned from the kitchen to find his world in flames, looked as though he might be sick.
“It should have been,” he said, barely audible. “The system has been flawless since the last upgrade. I don’t understand.”
Jocelyn, standing three feet away, felt the blood drain from her face. She looked over at Vincent, who was attempting to blend into the crowd, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor.
“Detective,” she said, her voice flat. “I suggest you question my uncle, Vincent Wolfe. He was terminated two months ago for gross misconduct, yet this evening he was observed directing my Head of Operations to abandon his post.”
“I was helping!” Vincent snapped. “Lily is divorcing me. I’m under enormous stress—”
“You’re a person of interest,” Jocelyn said. She turned to a security guard. “Escort Mr. Wolfe to a private office and wait with him until the Detective is ready. Do not allow him to use his phone.”
“Jocelyn! You ungrateful little—”
“Get him out,” she said, her voice hard as flint.
.