Martin looked at it without sympathy.
“The first call was First Continental Bank,” he said.
“The second was your insurance carrier.
The third was probably one of the partners you told would never abandon you.”
Jasper’s face hardened.
“You think they will believe a frightened woman and a dishonest employee over me?”
Isabella turned her head on the stretcher.
Her voice was weak, but clear.
“They don’t have to believe me.”
Everyone looked at her.
She nodded toward the hidden camera above the broken desk.
Jasper followed her gaze.
The confidence drained from his face.
He had installed the camera himself.
“You recorded the room,” Isabella said.
“Every night you brought people here.
Every meeting.
Every payment.
Every threat.”
Jasper shook his head.
“That system has no external connection.”
“It didn’t,” she replied.
“Until I replaced the storage unit last month.”
For two years, Jasper had treated her as though fear had made her incapable of thought.
He monitored her calls, controlled her cards, chose which friends she could see, and demanded access to every account she used.
He never considered that she had been watching him too.
She had memorized passwords reflected in windows.
Photographed documents while he slept.
Copied building-access logs.
Replaced the mill’s camera drive with one that created a hidden duplicate whenever it connected to power.
Tonight, when Jasper switched on the lights, he had activated her final piece of evidence himself.
One of my investigators removed a compact storage device from the camera housing and placed it in an evidence bag.
Jasper moved suddenly.
He lunged toward the desk, reaching for the blue folder containing the forged transfer papers.
An officer caught his arm before he touched it.
“Do not interfere with evidence.”
“Those are my documents.”
“They are now part of an active investigation.”
Jasper pulled against the officer’s grip, then stopped when he saw the body cameras pointed at him.
His entire life had been built around controlling what other people witnessed.
He was careful in public, generous at charity dinners, calm during interviews, and affectionate whenever a photographer stood nearby.
Now cameras surrounded him, and none belonged to him.
The medics began rolling Isabella toward the exit.
Jasper twisted to face her.
“You walk out that door, and you lose everything,” he said.
“The house, your reputation, the foundation.
I will tell everyone what you did.”
The stretcher stopped.
For a moment, Isabella closed her eyes.
I expected her to keep moving.
No one would have blamed her.
Instead, she looked at him.
“You already told them,” she said.
“The camera was on.”
The medic pushed the stretcher through the doorway.
