Chapter 123: The Surveillance Footage

Cecilia

Daniel pulled out his phone, scrolling through something before holding it up so I could see. It was a news article about the engagement party incident, carefully worded to avoid specifics but making it clear that something serious had happened.

"Your mother was arrested that night," Daniel said. "Held in police custody, facing serious charges. And then, less than twelve hours later, she's found dead in her cell. Officially ruled a suicide." He set the phone down. "Doesn't that strike you as odd?"

"People in custody commit suicide all the time," I said, even though my stomach was churning. "It's tragic, but it happens."

"It does," Daniel agreed. "But usually not when they've just given a statement implicating someone powerful in a crime."

I didn't say anything, just watched him carefully.

"So I decided to investigate," Daniel continued. "I went to the police station—my uncle's the chief, so I have some access—and I requested to see the surveillance footage from the night your mother died."

My heart was pounding now, but I kept my expression neutral. "And?"

Daniel's voice was bitter. "Yelled at me for half an hour about overstepping, about how surveillance footage isn't something that can be casually reviewed, about respecting the privacy of ongoing investigations."

Daniel met my eyes. "Then I snuck in—and being the police chief’s nephew really came in handy—and found there were no surveillance recordings from that day."

I felt my blood run cold. "That's—"

"Convenient?" Daniel supplied. "Yeah. That's what I thought too."

"But that could just be a coincidence," I said, even though I didn't believe it for a second. "Equipment fails. It happens."

"It does," Daniel agreed. "But here's the thing—I checked with some contacts I have in the department. That surveillance system is state-of-the-art, installed just two years ago. It has redundant backup systems, automatic alerts if anything goes offline. For every camera in that cell block to fail simultaneously, for hours, without triggering any alerts?"

He shook his head. "That doesn't just happen by accident."

"So you think someone disabled it," I said quietly.

"I think someone with access to the police station, with knowledge of how the security systems work, deliberately disabled those cameras." Daniel's voice was steady, certain. "And I think they did it so there would be no record of what really happened to your mother that night."

I felt sick. Not because this was new information—I'd suspected something like this from the moment Detective Clark had told me about my mother's death. But hearing it laid out so clearly, so logically, made it impossible to dismiss.

"The police ruled it a suicide because there was no evidence of anyone else being in the cell," Daniel continued. "No signs of a struggle, no foreign DNA, nothing. But without surveillance footage, without any way to verify what actually happened—"

He spread his hands. "They went with the simplest explanation. That your mother, facing serious prison time, took her own life."

"But you don't think that's what happened," I said.

"No." His voice was firm. "I think someone got to her. Someone with enough power and connections to access a secure police facility, to disable surveillance systems, to make it look like a suicide when it was really murder."

I sat back, trying to process all of this. The surveillance cameras had been deliberately disabled. My mother's death might not have been a suicide. Someone had the power to orchestrate all of this.

And Daniel didn't know that Arthur already knew about the suicide note, about the accusations against Irene. He thought he was bringing me brand new information about a conspiracy, when really he was bringing me evidence—proof that this was murder, not suicide.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked finally. "Why come to me with this theory instead of going to the police?"

Daniel's expression turned bitter. "Because my uncle made it very clear that this case is closed. That there will be no further investigation, no reopening of the file."

"He said the department can't afford the liability of admitting their surveillance system failed at such a critical moment, so officially, your mother's death was a suicide and that's the end of it."

"So they're covering it up," I said.

"They're protecting themselves," Daniel corrected. "And in the process, they're letting a murderer walk free."

We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of his words settling over us.

"What do you want from me?" I asked finally.

Daniel leaned forward, his eyes intense. "I want your permission to keep investigating. To dig deeper into what really happened that night, to find evidence that proves this wasn't suicide. And I want to step into the place where your mother once lived—maybe there's something there, some clue that could help us understand what she was involved in."

I looked at him—really looked at him—taking in his bruised face, his earnest expression.

He was young, probably only a few years older than me. Enthusiastic about his investigation work, eager to prove himself. And he'd just been beaten bloody by Rex Reynolds for trying to photograph someone at a gala.

My mind was racing. Arthur knew about the suicide note, knew that Evelyn had accused Irene. But he didn't know about the surveillance cameras being sabotaged. He didn't have proof that this was murder.

And if I told him what Daniel had just told me—if I revealed that someone had deliberately disabled the cameras to cover up my mother's death—then he would have to face the very real possibility that his mother was a murderer.

I'd already made him lose his father. I couldn't make him lose his mother too. Not until I had undeniable proof. Not until I could be absolutely certain.

"Cecilia?" Daniel prompted gently. "I know this is a lot to take in. But I need to know—do I have your permission to keep investigating?"

I made a decision.

"Yes," I said quietly. "You have my permission to investigate. I'll help you however I can."

Daniel's face lit up with relief and determination. "Thank you. I promise you, I'm going to find out what really happened. I'm going to get justice for your mother."

Justice for a woman who tried to have me assaulted, I thought distantly. Justice for a woman who abandoned me when I was nine years old, who only came back into my life to use me as a pawn.

But I didn't say any of that. Instead, I just nodded and said, "When do you want to start?"

"Tomorrow," Daniel said immediately. "If that works for you. We can go to her apartment, look through her things, see if there's anything that might give us a lead."

"Tomorrow works," I agreed.

After Daniel left, I stood in the entrance hall for a long time, staring out at the ocean and trying to process everything he'd told me.

The surveillance cameras had been deliberately disabled. My mother's death was likely murder, not suicide. Someone with significant power and resources had orchestrated all of this.

And I couldn't tell Arthur.

I don’t know what I’m doing. Even if I uncover the truth, do I have to send Arthur’s mother to prison because of that woman?

I'd already taken away his father by revealing William's crimes. I couldn't take away his mother too. Not without being absolutely sure.

But can I accept the person who gave birth to me dying just like this?