Chapter 7 - The Forged Confession
Rafe took in the scene in a single glance: the crowd of hushed guests, Camila standing with her head tilted in sad disappointment, Marco holding Josie’s coat, and the canary diamond earring resting on the marble table.
And then he looked at Josie.
She stood straight behind her small desk, her hands folded quietly over her long sleeves, her face pale but completely composed. She didn't cry. She didn't beg.
"What is happening here?" Rafe asked, his voice dropping into that low, terrifying register that instantly silenced the room.
Camila stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Rafe’s arm. "Oh, Rafe... it’s dreadful. My yellow diamond earring went missing. Marco found it in Miss Kavanaugh’s coat pocket. I’m sure the poor girl is simply facing financial difficulties..."
Rafe didn't look at his wife. His dark eyes remained fixed entirely on Josie.
"Did you take it, Josie?" Rafe asked quietly.
It was the first time in five years he had called her by her first name in public.
Josie looked straight into his eyes. "No, Mr. Castellano. I did not."
The simplicity and absolute calm of her answer echoed across the silent foyer.
Camila’s expression hardened slightly. "Rafe, the evidence is right there on the table! She’s obviously lying—"
"Sunny," Rafe interrupted smoothly, turning his head toward his lieutenant. "Escort Miss Kavanaugh to a car. Have the driver take her directly to her home. She will take the next three days off with full pay while I investigate this matter."
Camila looked stunned. "Rafe! She stole from our family in front of our guests! She should be handed over to the police immediately!"
Rafe turned his head slowly, looking down at his wife. "No one in my house is turned over to the police, Camila. I conduct my own investigations."
That night, Josie was driven home in a black sedan.
Forty-eight hours later, on a dark Thursday afternoon, Josie was walking down her narrow rowhouse street carrying a bag of groceries for Juny.
As she stepped into the alleyway behind her building, a silent black van pulled up beside her. Two men in dark coats stepped out, pressed a chemically treated rag over her mouth before she could scream, and dragged her inside.
The following morning, a typed letter appeared on Rafe’s desk.
Attached to the letter was a photocopy of Josie's handwritten note to Juny, matching the penmanship perfectly. The letter stated that Josie confessed to stealing the canary earring out of desperation for debts, that she had sold her apartment, taken her sister, and fled the state to avoid retaliation.
Sunny stood beside the desk as Rafe read the letter for the third time.
"It looks official, boss," Sunny said quietly. "Her apartment in South Philly is completely cleaned out. The landlord said two men paid off her remaining lease in cash yesterday morning."
Rafe stood up slowly, his face cold as marble. He walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the grey Philadelphia skyline.
He pulled the letter from his pocket, his thumb tracing the rounded handwriting.
"It's a fake, Sunny," Rafe said softly.
Sunny blinked. "Boss?"
"Josie Kavanaugh wouldn't leave a confession letter without her mark," Rafe said, turning around, his dark eyes ablaze with a dangerous light. "In five years, every single document she gave me had an alphanumeric code stamped in the upper-right corner. PH/04. Every single one."
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He slammed the paper onto his desk. "She didn't write this. Someone took her handwriting sample from the handbag search at the party."
Rafe’s scarred hand gripped his desk. "Find out where Camila’s personal security team was stationed yesterday afternoon. Every single one of them. Now."
