Chapter 5 – THE SISTER IN THE SHADOWS
The woman walking down the center aisle could have been Camille’s twin.
She had the same sharp jawline, the same dark eyes, but her expression was entirely devoid of the polished, arrogant sneer that Camille wore. She was dressed in a simple, inexpensive blazer, looking wildly out of place among the ballgowns.
Answer one: Camille hadn’t been working entirely alone. And the anonymous informant who tipped off the FBI was someone inside her own family.
“Sarah?” Camille gasped, her face draining of all color as she stared at the woman. “What are you doing here?”
“Ending it, Camille,” Sarah said softly, stopping next to the detective.
She looked at me, her eyes filled with profound apology.
“Mrs. Callahan,” Sarah said. “My name is Sarah Price. I’m Camille’s younger sister. I work in the IT department at Peter’s construction firm.”
My mind raced. “You gave the FBI the accounts?”
“Yes,” Sarah nodded, handing the thick manila folder to the lead detective. “Three weeks ago, Camille asked me to bypass the foundation’s firewall. She needed me to digitally alter the signature authorizations on the offshore accounts from Peter’s name to yours.”
The crowd murmured in shock.
“Shut up, Sarah!” Camille shrieked, lunging forward, but a police officer grabbed her arms, pinning her back.
“She promised me half a million dollars to do it,” Sarah continued, tears welling in her eyes. “I needed the money for my son’s medical bills. I almost did it. But then I looked at the files. I saw the name of the foundation.”
Sarah looked up at the massive photograph of Hannah on the projector screen.
“My son was a patient at this hospital last year,” Sarah wept. “Your foundation paid for my hotel room. You paid for his meals when I couldn’t afford to eat. When I realized Camille and Peter were stealing from the very charity that saved my family, I couldn’t do it.”
Open two: If Sarah tipped off the FBI three weeks ago, why did Peter think the trap was still in place tonight? And where was the actual money currently sitting?
“You stupid girl,” Peter groaned from the floor, glaring at Sarah. “You ruined everything.”
“No, Mr. Callahan,” the detective corrected, snapping the handcuffs tightly around Peter’s wrists. “She fixed it. Because instead of altering the signatures to frame your wife, Sarah mirrored the accounts directly to an FBI secure server. We’ve watched every single transfer you’ve made for the last twenty-one days.”
Reversal: The digital evidence Camille thought was her trump card was actually the exact evidence the FBI used to build their airtight case against them both.
“The USB drive Camille is holding,” the detective continued, nodding to an officer who confiscated it from the mistress’s trembling hands. “It doesn’t contain Grace’s forged signatures. It contains a Trojan horse program that just downloaded all of Camille’s private emails to our database.”
Camille collapsed against the security guard, sobbing uncontrollably.
The trap they had built for me had completely backfired.
I looked down at Peter. The man who had been my entire world. The man who had held my hand at our daughter’s funeral, knowing exactly why she was dead.
“Get him out of here,” I whispered, turning away in disgust.
“Wait,” Eleanor commanded, stepping forward.
My mother-in-law walked up to her son. She didn’t look angry anymore. She looked terribly, profoundly exhausted.
“You broke my heart, Peter,” Eleanor said quietly. “But worse, you broke your daughter’s heart. And for that, I will make sure you never see a dime of the Callahan family money for your legal defense. You are entirely on your own.”
Peter stared at his mother, true panic finally setting in as the officers hauled him to his feet.
“Mom, please,” Peter begged.
Eleanor turned her back on him.
As the police marched Peter and Camille out of the ballroom, a heavy, exhausted silence fell over the remaining guests. The string quartet had long since packed away their instruments. The gala was in ruins.
But I didn’t feel ruined. I felt lighter than I had in eight years.
I walked over to Sarah Price.
“Thank you,” I said, taking her trembling hands in mine. “You risked your own freedom to protect me.”
“It was the right thing to do, Mrs. Callahan,” Sarah sniffled.
I turned to David, the security chief.
“David, please inform the guests that the gala is officially concluded,” I announced, my voice steady and strong. “But assure them that the foundation is secure, and every cent stolen will be recovered and put back into the pediatric ward.”
As the guests began to file out in hushed, shocked whispers, Dr. Evans walked up to me.
He was holding his battered leather briefcase.
“Mrs. Callahan,” Dr. Evans said gently. “There is one last thing.”
I frowned, my heart skipping a beat. “What is it?”
Dr. Evans reached into the briefcase and pulled out a small, ornate brass key.
“Hannah didn’t just give me the sweater,” Dr. Evans said, holding the key out to me. “She gave me this. She said if Peter was ever arrested, I was to hand this key directly to you.”
TITLE: THE BRASS KEY
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