Chapter 8 - The Hidden Lens in the Chandelier
"Don't you dare touch me!" Vanessa shrieked, backing away toward the kitchen.
"My father will have your badge stripped by morning, Brooks! He appointed the chief of this department!"
"Your father cannot protect you from a felony battery charge, ma'am," Brooks said, unhooking his cuffs with practiced efficiency.
"Wait, Sergeant," I interjected, raising my hand.
Brooks paused, looking at me with a questioning frown.
"She is going to claim this was a mutual altercation with no independent witnesses," I explained.
"She will claim my mother provoked her, and with her father's political leverage, the local district attorney will try to plead this down to a misdemeanor disorderly conduct."
Vanessa smiled nastily, her chin jutting out in defiance.
"That's right, Claire. It is my word against a senile woman's word. Good luck proving anything in court."
I looked up at the antique bronze chandelier hanging directly in the center of the two-story entryway.
It was an ornate, crystal-draped fixture that my father had installed thirty years ago.
Nestled between two brass scrollwork leaves on the lower tier was a tiny, reflective glass circle no larger than a shirt button.
I reached into my pocket, tapped my smartphone screen, and brought up an encrypted local storage application.
"Do you remember six months ago, Mark, when Mom complained that things were mysteriously going missing from her jewelry box?"
Mark blinked, wiping his tear-stained cheeks.
"Yeah... she said Dad's gold watch vanished."
"Dad's watch didn't vanish," I said, staring directly into Vanessa's widening eyes.
"Vanessa stole it and pawned it at a shop on Fourth Street to pay down her personal credit card debt."
"That is a lie!" Vanessa screamed, her voice cracking with terror.
"When Mom told me about the watch, I came down here on a weekend leave and installed a hardwired, continuous-loop four-K security lens in the chandelier."
I pointed my phone screen toward Sergeant Brooks and Officer Miller.
"It records audio and video directly to a secure cloud server managed by my division."
Vanessa’s knees visibly buckled.
She reached out, catching herself against the edge of the dining room archway as the walls closed in around her.
"No..." she whimpered.
"I just pulled up the footage from forty-two minutes ago, Sergeant Brooks," I said, tapping the play button.
The clear, uncompressed audio of my mother's terrified voice echoed from the smartphone speakers into the dead-silent foyer.
*"Please, Vanessa, I don't want to sell Fairview... that was your father-in-law's legacy..."*
Then came the sharp, violent sound of porcelain shattering against hardwood.
Followed immediately by Vanessa's chilling, venomous scream:
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*"Sign the goddamn deed, you miserable old bitch, or I will make sure you die in a state mental asylum!"*
Then, the sickening, wet thud of the wooden baseball bat striking human bone.
