Chapter 34 · The Burned Clause

The warrant was still stuck to June’s cheek when the first flash went off.

She didn’t scream. June never screamed where someone could put a price on it. She sat dead center on the polished floor of the auction hall in her oyster-white silk suit, one wrist twisted up behind her shoulder blade, staring at me like I was a bill she’d decided to contest.

“Take it off me,” she said. Voice sweet. Casual. Like she was asking for a fresh linen napkin. “Vivian. Tell them.”

Nobody moved.

Two federal agents held her elbows. Behind them, the metal folding chairs were still warm from the bidding war. An hour ago, half the women in this room were sipping complimentary brut out of plastic flutes, clapping while my husband’s foreclosed marina slips got carved up for scrap. Now they stood frozen, clutching designer leather to their ribs like the cash inside might jump out and turn state’s evidence.

“June Shore,” the senior agent said, reading flat off his card. “You’re under arrest for federal maritime fraud, wire fraud, and the willful submission of forged hull safety certificates. You have the right to remain silent.”

June’s chin snapped up.