Chapter 2 - The Silver Locket
The flashing red and blue lights cut through the gloom of the Beverly Hills evening, painting the faces of the mourners in frantic, chaotic strokes.
Six police officers moved into the grand foyer.
The murmurs of the wealthy and powerful died instantly.
Vivian stood paralyzed near the casket, her perfectly manicured hands trembling against the dark fabric of her dress. The polished, grieving widow act had completely shattered.
Detective Ray Miller, a broad-shouldered man in a rumpled suit, walked directly toward Arthur Kane.
“Mr. Kane,” Detective Miller said, ignoring the dozens of billionaires staring at him. “You said Charles Westwood made a report before he passed?”
Arthur didn't flinch. “He made a phone call, Detective. Six days ago. He told dispatch he believed he was being poisoned. Slowly. Over weeks.”
Daniel Westwood stepped forward, his face completely drained of color. He looked from Arthur to the detective, then finally to his fiancée, Vivian.
“Poisoned?” Daniel’s voice cracked. “My father died of a sudden heart attack.”
“That’s what the initial coroner’s report said,” Detective Miller replied. “Before we received the toxicology rush order this afternoon. Your father didn't have a heart attack, Mr. Westwood. He was given a lethal dose of digitalis. Foxglove.”
Vivian let out a sharp, theatrical gasp. She brought a hand to her mouth, tears spilling over her lashes. “Oh, my god. Daniel, someone murdered Charles.”
She reached for Daniel’s arm.
He pulled away.
It was a small movement, but in that grand room, it felt like an earthquake. Daniel looked down at the woman he was supposed to marry, his eyes finally seeing past the beauty, past the charm, straight to the fifty-million-dollar insurance policy still clenched in Arthur’s hand.
“Don’t touch me, Vivian,” Daniel whispered.
Vivian’s eyes widened, filling with panicked tears. “Daniel, you can’t believe I had anything to do with this. I loved him! He treated me like a daughter!”
“He treated you like a suspect,” Arthur corrected coldly.
Detective Miller signaled to two officers. “Vivian Cross, we need you to come down to the station for questioning.”
“I’m not going anywhere without a lawyer!” she shrieked, backing away.
“Then we will arrest you right here,” the detective countered.
As the officers escorted a sobbing, furious Vivian out of the mansion, the remaining guests began to whisper frantically.
I stood near the floral arrangements, my heart hammering against my ribs. I was just a tutor. A twenty-six-year-old woman struggling to pay rent in a tiny apartment in the Valley. I didn't belong in this world of blood money and betrayal.
I turned to leave. I needed to check on Emma, Daniel’s twelve-year-old daughter. She was upstairs in her bedroom, away from the funeral.
“Miss Harper.”
Arthur Kane’s voice stopped me.
The older man walked over, leaving Daniel to speak with the police. Arthur’s silver hair caught the dim light, but his eyes were entirely shadowed.
“You did a brave thing today, Lily,” Arthur said quietly. “Not many people would stand up to Vivian.”
“I just wouldn't burn a Bible,” I said, my voice shaking. “Mr. Kane, what is going on? Did Vivian kill him?”
Arthur looked out the window toward the police cruisers. “I have spent forty years protecting the Westwood family. Charles was a complicated man. But he was not a fool.”
He reached into his jacket pocket.
He didn't pull out the brass key we had found in the Bible.
Instead, he pulled out a small, tarnished silver locket. It looked heavy, antique, and entirely out of place among the billionaire’s modern luxuries.
“Charles gave this to me the day before he died,” Arthur said, pressing the cold metal into my palm. “He asked me to give it to Emma when she turned eighteen. But given the circumstances… I believe she needs it now. And I trust you to give it to her.”
I looked down at the locket. It was engraved with a single letter: S.
“Who is S?” I asked.
“Her mother. Sarah,” Arthur replied gently. “Daniel’s first wife.”
I nodded, gripping the locket tight, and hurried up the sweeping marble staircase.
Emma’s room was at the end of the long, silent hallway. I knocked softly. “Emma? It’s Lily.”
No answer.
I pushed the door open.
The room was dark. Emma was sitting on the floor in the corner, her knees pulled to her chest, hugging a faded blue teddy bear. Her dark hair fell over her face. She looked so small, so fragile.
“Emma,” I whispered, kneeling beside her. “Are you okay?”
She looked up. Her eyes were red and swollen. “Are they taking Vivian away?”
“Yes,” I said carefully. “The police have some questions for her.”
Emma let out a shaky breath. She didn't look sad. She looked relieved.
I opened my hand, revealing the silver locket. “Your grandfather left this for you. Mr. Kane said it belonged to your mom.”
Emma’s eyes widened. She reached out with trembling fingers and took the locket. She traced the engraved S.
“He kept it,” she whispered.
“Do you want to open it?” I asked.
Emma nodded. She pressed the small latch. The locket popped open.
Inside the left panel was a tiny, faded photograph of a beautiful woman with dark hair. Sarah.
But inside the right panel, there wasn’t a picture.
There was a tightly folded piece of paper.
I carefully extracted it and unfolded it. It was a receipt. From a private investigator.
Dated three days before Charles died.
The memo line read: Investigation into the death of Sarah Westwood.
I felt the blood drain from my face. Sarah had died in a car accident ten years ago. Why was Charles investigating it now?
Emma looked at the paper, then up at me. Her bottom lip trembled.
“Lily,” Emma whispered, her voice barely audible. “Vivian didn't put the medicine in Grandpa’s tea the night he died.”
I froze. “What?”
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Emma’s eyes filled with fresh, terrified tears.
“I saw who made his tea,” she sobbed. “It wasn't Vivian. It was my dad.”
