When Elodie saw Patricia being led out, dazed and disheveled, she couldn’t help but suspect what was really going on.
The place was swarming with police officers.
Across the room, the privileged heirs lounged around with an air of careless indifference, as if none of this concerned them in the slightest.
Only Patricia stood out. Her face was drawn and pale, and as she was being escorted away, she instinctively lifted her head.
That’s when she saw Jarrod, standing beside Elodie.
For a split second, her beauty—usually enough to outshine any actress—seemed almost ghostly, her expression clouded with suspicion and disbelief.
Still, she climbed into the police car without protest.
It was only then that Watts seemed to realize what was happening and hurried over to negotiate with the officers.
The entire group made a grand, noisy exit.
Watts stayed behind.
His jaw was clenched tight as he fixed his gaze on Jarrod and strode toward them.
“Mr. Silverstein. What a coincidence, isn’t it?” Watts’ eyes lingered briefly on Elodie before he asked, “About Patricia—are you just a bystander, or are you involved in all of this?”
Jarrod looked at him, unhurried and calm. “What are you implying, Mr. Aldridge? Patricia seems to have landed herself in trouble, and yet you find the time to come greet me?”
Elodie’s eyebrows lifted almost imperceptibly, betraying nothing.
Watts’ eyes grew cold. “That’s hardly fair, is it, Mr. Silverstein?”
Patricia was supposed to leave for an art exhibition abroad tomorrow.
Tonight, she’d gathered with friends at the club. Maybe it was because of Jarrod, maybe it was her own creative frustration, but her mood had been volatile—and she’d messed with things she really shouldn’t have.
The timing, however, was almost too perfect.
The police had arrived with uncanny precision. The club manager hadn’t even warned anyone in the private lounge.
Everyone inside was rounded up.
Not a single person slipped away.
Now they were all being taken in for questioning.
He had arrived too late to stop any of it.
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