Clara lowered her head, the humiliation and physical pain threatening to break her resolve completely. She squeezed her eyes shut as soft sniffles escaped her throat, her chest heaving under her crisp white waitress uniform. Victoria adjusted her gold dress, smoothing out the imaginary wrinkles with cold indifference, as if slapping a staff member was no more troubling than swatting a fly. You don't understand, Arthur, Victoria lied smoothly, her tone suddenly transforming into sweet, protective concern. She was going to steal one of our most expensive vintages. I caught her creeping around down here earlier. She's making up stories to cover her tracks. Clara didn't bother arguing verbally anymore. Instead, her trembling fingers reached into her apron pocket and pulled out her smartphone. Her fingers tapped rapidly on the glass screen, navigating past notifications until she found the file she had recorded only moments before the party began. With a steadying breath, she turned the screen directly toward Arthur and held it high into the candlelight.