Margot Delaney opened the leather folder.
The sound was small, almost nothing against the crystal and marble of Harrington Atelier, but it changed the room more effectively than a shout could have.
Sabrina still held my black card.
Preston still stood beside her.
Beatrice still had her champagne glass lifted near her pearls.
Margot looked at me first.
“Mrs.
Hale, before we proceed, I need you to answer one question clearly.”
Her voice carried through the silence.
“Before you approached this counter, did you authorize Sabrina Monroe to identify herself as you, sign purchases under your account, or use your card for these transactions?”
Sabrina’s head snapped toward me.
I said, “No.”
Her confidence cracked for the first time.
“She just told you to go ahead,” Sabrina said quickly.
“Everyone heard her.”
Margot did not even glance at her.
“For the final transaction,” she said.
“I asked about the purchases made before Mrs.
Hale reached the counter.”
Sabrina opened her mouth, then closed it.
Preston stepped forward.
“This is ridiculous.
Claire was standing right here.
This is a family matter.”
Margot finally turned to him.
“No, Mr.
Hale.
Once another person represents herself as the account holder, signs under that identity, and charges merchandise under that name, it becomes a merchant matter too.”
The champagne glasses around us stopped moving.
I could feel the room recalculating.
Ten minutes earlier, I had been the humiliated wife everyone expected to break.
Now no one seemed sure where to look.
Margot removed the first page from the folder.
“Every purchase made tonight has been logged.
Every authorization has been preserved.
The transaction area is recorded under Harrington’s security and fraud-prevention procedures.”
Sabrina stared toward the mirrored wall.
That was when she finally noticed the camera.
Her face changed.
Preston noticed it too.
He looked at me.
“You knew?”
I said nothing.
Margot continued.
“The total presented under Mrs.
