Chapter 3 - The Feeding of the Angel
Celeste’s face turned from flushed red to a sickly, stark white.
“That’s... that’s absurd!” Celeste shrieked, her voice cracking with sudden panic. “The child is lying! She’s being coached by her mother! Mason, you aren't actually going to listen to a barefoot four-year-old, are you?!”
Mason didn't answer her. His eyes were locked on Celeste’s face, watching the wild, frantic panic dancing in her eyes.
He slowly stood up. At six-foot-two, his presence filled the space beneath the chandelier. Without saying a word, he walked over to the grand fireplace.
“Mason, don't you dare touch that!” Celeste shouted, stepping forward, her high heels clicking frantically against the floor. “This is ridiculous! It’s an insult to me!”
Jerry, the security guard, stepped smoothly in front of Celeste, blocking her path with a heavy, unyielding shoulder.
Mason reached up to the mantle. He carefully lifted the heavy porcelain angel. The base of the figurine was hollow, designed to fit over a small mounting peg on the mantle to keep it secure during the winter holidays.
Mason turned the angel upside down.
A heavy, glittering cascade of diamonds tumbled out of the hollow base, crashing onto the marble hearth with a loud, chiming sound that echoed like broken glass across the entire room.
The Whitaker Star.
The three-hundred-carat diamond collar lay coiled on the stone mantle, catching the firelight in brilliant, blinding flashes of crimson and ice blue.
The twenty-eight guests gasped in unison. A woman near the front row covered her mouth with both hands.
May you like
Mason stood frozen, staring at his late mother’s necklace lying on the stone. He slowly turned his head to look at Celeste Harrington—the woman he had been planning to propose to before the end of the evening.
“You hid it,” Mason said, his voice dropping into a register so dark and quiet it made the air in the room feel heavy. “You hid my mother’s necklace inside the mantle ornament.”
