Not the Lawyer, But My Ears

The call came in at 8:31 p.m.

I was in the middle of restoring a car crash recording when my brother's WhatsApp voice message cut through the noise of screeching tires and twisted metal.

"Sophia, the cops say I killed someone. You have to help me. I'm not lying—the bride didn't fall on her own."

Six seconds.

In the background, someone shouted, "Take that phone away. Don't let him coordinate with anyone outside."

Then a muffled grunt from Terry.

I tried calling back immediately. It went straight to voicemail.

My brother Terry Perez is nineteen. He's the kind of person who can't even watch a fish being gutted. This summer, he picked up a catering shift at the Cloudspire Hotel—wedding work, nothing fancy. He's never thrown a punch in his life, and he blushes when a stranger argues with him about the weather.

But now the police say he's a killer.

I pulled up his location on my phone, then opened the shift schedule in the catering group chat. Cloudspire Hotel. The Hernandez wedding. Back corridor, glass collection station.

I saved my audio session and took off my headphones.

My name is Sophia Perez. I'm the youngest forensic audio specialist in Vernbrook. Most people listen for what's obvious. I listen for what they tried to erase.

Twenty minutes later, I stepped out of a cab in front of the Cloudspire Hotel.

The wedding reception hadn't ended yet, but a crowd had already gathered outside the entrance. Police lights pulsed blue and white across the stone facade. On the back corridor floor, shattered champagne glasses glittered under the floodlights. A few catering staff stood against the wall with their heads down, no one daring to speak.

I spotted a boy I recognized—he worked the same shift as Terry. "Where is he?"

The kid's face had gone pale. "They took him. Detective Ryan."

"Why?"

"The bride died. She fell from the terrace." His voice cracked. "Terry said he saw the groom and the stepmother forcing her out there, but nobody believed him. Then the security chief found the bride's ring in his pocket."

"Who searched him?"

"Ryder. Head of hotel security."

"What about the cameras?"

The kid shook his head. "They said the terrace cameras were down for maintenance."

Too convenient.

"Why was Terry near the terrace in the first place?"

"He was collecting empty glasses from the back corridor. The bride ran out onto the terrace and bumped into him. Terry said she was screaming, 'Don't let them take the white roses.'"

White roses.

I filed that away.

Thirty minutes later, I walked into the police station.

Detective Ryan Nelson came out of the hallway. He looked me over once. "You're Terry's family?"

"I'm his sister. I need to see him."

"Not right now."

"He sent me a voice message. He said he's innocent."

Ryan's expression didn't change. "Everyone says they're innocent."

I held his gaze. "Then what do you have on him?"

He turned and walked into his office. A moment later, he came back with a laptop.

"You want evidence?" He set it down on the counter. "Then listen."