Page 114 of The Quiet After The Fall

“No.” She keeps her eyes on the party, a fake smile plastered on. “But I will be.”

I gesture toward the back exit. “Do you wanna take a breather?”

She hesitates, but nods, so I take her arm and lead her away from the noise and the cameras. This hasn’t been easy on her. I’m surprised she went for my plan when I brought her into this.

We slip out the back of the tent, past a few well-wishing strangers. It’s quiet the second we’re outside the canvas, or at least quiet enough to hear myself think.

Ella stays silent. The only sound is the thud of her heels hitting grass, but for anyone still watching, we look our part. Husband and wife.

We don’t get far before I hear a familiar voice.

Moretti’s.

I stop dead, jutting a hand out to keep Ella from walking past the hedge line. She freezes next to me, and I watch her face change the second she recognizes it too.

He’s not talking to anyone we can see. Maybe he’s on the phone, or it’s one of his men just out of sight around the corner of the house. His voice is low and controlled, putting me on edge.

“Richard’s done his part. Once the transfer clears, he’s no use to me.” He pauses before going on. “No, don’t touch him yet. Let him enjoy his little party. There’s time.”

He’s quiet for a few breaths, listening. Ella tries to go to him, but I stop her.

“My daughter’s handled either way. She’ll do what she’s told, or she learns the same lesson her mother did.”

Ella grips my hand hard enough to hurt. What does he mean? And who’s on the other end of that conversation?

I don’t move. Don’t breathe. Every instinct I’ve got says to walk around that corner and lay him out. The only thing keeping my feet planted is years of practice in restraint and the knowledge that the next phase of the plan is happening soon.

Ella’s still staring at the hedge, eyes narrowed, and I can see her running through the same questions I am. Who is he talking to?

Or maybe she already knows.

“Ella,” I whisper. “What lesson did your mother learn?”

She doesn’t answer right away. When she does, it’s barely a whisper. “I don’t know. I’ve never met her. He told me she left when I was two.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

She sniffs, but her eyes are dry. “I’m done protecting him.”

Before I can ask what that means, a line of vehicles pulls up along the side lawn—black SUVs and a few police cruisers.

Ella’s fingers tighten around mine one more time.

“Whatever happens in the next ten minutes,” she says, “don’t let go of my hand.”

We forget about Moretti and dart around the hedge to watch the whole thing unfold. I need to find Sawyer, but people are already noticing the new arrivals, taking out their phones to record.

Four detectives, three men and one woman, are cutting through the crowd, yelling for people to move to the side. Guests scatter, dropping glasses and knocking over chairs, but some stay put, enjoying the first course pasta dish, watching like this is the scheduled entertainment.

I spot my father before he notices what’s happening.

He’s still got that same grin plastered on, making small talk with one of his golf buddies. One of the detectives says his name, and I’m able to watch the exact moment he realizes what’s happening. His entire face rearranges itself into an expression of shock.

“Richard Aldrich,” the lead detective says. “You’re under arrest.”

My mother’s glass hits the wooden floor and rolls. Richard starts bellowing over the commotion. “This is absurd. I have no idea what you⁠—”

“Save it.” The detective grabs his cuffs. “You’ll want to wait for your attorney.”