nt. Cordelia sat in an interview room, a coarse wool blanket draped over her shoulders by a sympathe

er statement, her voice a carefully constructed whisper of shock.

n scratching across his no

ening into indignant anger. Cordelia finished her statement and politely declined the officer's offer of a ride hom

ooth things over, to frame the incident as a "lovers' quarrel" that had gotten out of hand. The desk sergeant came o

g. "No," she said, her voice clear and firm. "T

actic, the precinct doors swung open again. Her father, Harrison Webster, stormed in, his face a thunderc

bench, wrapped in her own blanket. "Oh, my baby girl!" Melissa wailed, p

oice was a low, furious hiss. "Cordelia, stop this non

Cordelia's hand, her grip surprisingly strong. "Darling, I know you and Hay

ous fiancée. Kasey, on cue, began to sob into her mother's shoulder. "I'm

anting no part in this rich family's melodrama. Harris

g you to drop the char

would have made her crumble.

Father, they were found in my wedding-present penthouse, half-dres

pportunity to approach, his face a carefully crafted mask of contrition

that. But she was better. She knew the video on her secure drive was her trump card, and it wasn't time to

ined to let them sort it out. That's when Melissa played her

dripping with false sympathy. "Cordelia... she hasn't

hem, a spectator to their desperate flailing. Through it a

ce to conduct a f

e Webster and Lyons family drama was now on public display in the m

had never seen this version of his daughter. This cold, unbreakable stranger. This was no