Chapter 2 - THE WEDDING THAT NEVER HAPPENED
2
By the time Daniel realized I was not returning to the Grand Ashford Hotel, two hundred guests had already begun filling the lobby.
I learned that later.
At the time, I was driving toward Martin Hale’s office with my wedding dress hanging in a garment bag across the back seat and my father’s watch resting in the cup holder.
Daniel called seventeen times.
Patricia called nine.
My maid of honor, Mia Rhodes, called six.
I answered Mia.
“Claire?”
Her voice sounded breathless.
“What happened?”
“I canceled it.”
“I know that. Daniel is losing his mind.”
“Is Patricia with him?”
“Yes. She keeps telling everyone there’s been a misunderstanding.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
I checked the rearview mirror.
The dark sedan I had seen outside my house was no longer behind me.
“Listen to me, Mia. Don’t tell Daniel where I am.”
“Claire, you’re scaring me.”
“I heard something at the house.”
“What?”
“I’ll explain later.”
There was a pause.
Then Mia’s voice hardened.
“Do you need me to get you out of there?”
Despite everything, I nearly smiled.
Mia had been my best friend since college and had never liked Daniel as much as she pretended to.
“No. Stay at the hotel.”
“Why?”
“I want you to watch.”
“Watch what?”
“Who Daniel calls. Who Patricia talks to. Whether either of them leaves.”
Mia went silent.
Then she said, “Okay.”
“And Mia?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t let them know you’re watching.”
“I grew up with three older sisters. I can spy on people while holding champagne.”
That finally made me smile.
I ended the call.
Martin’s office occupied the twenty-third floor of an old financial building downtown.
When I arrived, his receptionist didn’t look surprised.
That frightened me more than anything.
“Mr. Hale is waiting.”
She led me past the conference room.
Martin stood inside his private office with his tie loosened and three files spread across his desk.
He was sixty-three, silver-haired, normally composed to the point of being irritating.
That afternoon, he looked ten years older.
He locked the office door after I entered.
“Show me the recording.”
I handed him my phone.
He listened without expression.
When Daniel’s voice said, I’m marrying someone too emotional to protect it, Martin closed his eyes.
When it ended, he handed the phone back.
“Email copies to yourself and to me. Then upload one somewhere Daniel doesn’t know exists.”
“I already did.”
His eyebrows rose.
“My father taught me something.”
Martin nodded.
“He did.”
I showed him the photographs from Daniel’s briefcase.
He examined the trust summary.
Then his face changed.
“This copy isn’t supposed to exist.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“There are security marks on official copies.”
He enlarged the photograph.
“This was copied from Edward’s personal file.”
“My father’s?”
“Yes.”
“Where was that file?”
Martin looked at me.
“In his Harbor Street office.”
“Could Daniel have accessed it?”
“Not legitimately.”
“What about Patricia?”
“No.”
I put my phone down.
“Then someone inside the company helped them.”
Martin didn’t answer.
I pointed toward the files on his desk.
“Tell me about Vincent Mercer.”
Martin walked to a cabinet and removed a sealed brown envelope.
Across the front, in my father’s handwriting, were three words.
FOR CLAIRE ONLY.
The date written beneath them was eleven days before his death.
My chest tightened.
“Why didn’t you give this to me?”
“Because he instructed me not to unless certain conditions occurred.”
“What conditions?”
“A Mercer attempted to gain management authority over Ellison Maritime.”
I stared at him.
“He knew?”
“He suspected something.”
“Something about Daniel?”
“Your father met Daniel only a few times before he became ill. Daniel told him the surname was coincidental.”
“And Dad believed him?”
“At first.”
Martin sat down.
“Twenty-six years ago, Vincent Mercer was one of your father’s first business partners.”
I had never heard the name.
“Why?”
“Because Edward erased him from the company history.”
That sentence landed strangely.
“My father didn’t erase people.”
“Vincent wasn’t merely dismissed.”
Martin pushed an old photograph across the desk.
Three young men stood outside a warehouse.
My father was one.
Another was a man I recognized vaguely from old company photographs.
The third man was taller, dark-haired, smiling directly at the camera.
The resemblance to Daniel was unmistakable.
“That’s Vincent?”
Martin nodded.
“What happened?”
“Money disappeared.”
“How much?”
“In today’s terms? Almost eight million dollars.”
“Vincent stole it?”
“That was the official conclusion.”
“Official?”
Martin looked uncomfortable.
“Vincent claimed your father framed him.”
I sat back.
“Did he?”
“I never believed so.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No.”
Martin folded his hands.
“But Vincent believed it until the day he died.”
“How did he die?”
“Prison.”
I remembered Daniel telling me his father had died when he was twelve.
That part, apparently, had been true.
“And Patricia?”
“Vincent’s wife.”
I felt sick.
“So Patricia knew my father.”
“Yes.”
“And she pretended not to?”
“Yes.”
Every Christmas dinner.
Every birthday.
Every polite story about her childhood.
Every time Patricia had said, “I wish I could have met Edward.”
A lie.
I picked up the envelope.
“Can I open this?”
“That’s why you’re here.”
Inside were three things.
A handwritten letter.
A small brass key.
And a photograph.
The photograph showed my father sitting inside his Harbor Street office.
Behind him stood Patricia Mercer.
The date printed in the corner was only four months before his death.
Not six days.
Four months.
They had known each other throughout most of my relationship with Daniel.
I opened the letter.
Claire,
If you are reading this, something I hoped would remain buried has returned.
Do not assume the person closest to you understands the entire plan.
Do not assume greed is the only motive.
And most importantly, do not sign anything involving Harbor Street.
There is something beneath the building that Vincent Mercer spent years trying to find.
My heart hammered.
I looked at Martin.
“Beneath the building?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re Dad’s attorney.”
“He didn’t tell me everything.”
I continued reading.
The brass key opens Archive Room C.
You have never been there because officially it does not exist.
Take Martin.
Trust no company executive until you understand what the Northstar files are.
I stopped.
“Northstar?”
Martin shook his head.
“I’ve never heard of it.”
The letter ended with something even stranger.
If Daniel is involved, remember this: children inherit stories before they inherit guilt. Find out which story he was given.
I read the sentence twice.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
My phone rang.
Daniel again.
This time Martin said, “Answer.”
I looked at him.
“You told me not to confront him.”
“Don’t confront him.”
“Then what do I say?”
“Very little.”
I accepted the call.
“Claire?”
Daniel sounded frantic.
Not angry.
Not yet.
“Where are you?”
“I’m safe.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m safe.”
“Why did you cancel our wedding?”
I looked at Martin.
“Because I changed my mind.”
Silence.
Then Daniel laughed once.
“You don’t cancel a two-hundred-person wedding because you changed your mind three hours before the ceremony.”
“Apparently I do.”
“Come to the hotel.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
His voice softened.
It was the voice he used when I cried about my father.
“You’re overwhelmed. This day was always going to be difficult without Edward.”
I almost admired him.
He had no idea I had heard everything.
Or he was pretending he didn’t.
“Maybe.”
“Tell me where you are. I’ll come alone.”
“No.”
A pause.
Then he said, “Did you go home?”
I didn’t answer.
Another pause.
Longer.
“Claire?”
“Yes?”
“Did you take anything from the house?”
Martin and I looked at each other.
There it was.
Not Are you okay?
Not What happened?
Did you take anything?
“My father’s watch.”
Daniel exhaled.
Only slightly.
“I mean papers.”
“What papers?”
“The wedding documents.”
“I thought our marriage license was at the hotel.”
“It is.”
“Then what papers?”
Silence.
He had stepped into his own trap.
Daniel recovered quickly.
“Never mind. I’m just confused.”
“I know.”
“Please come back.”
“No.”
His breathing changed.
Then he asked the question that told me exactly how frightened he was.
“Have you spoken to Martin Hale?”
I looked straight at Martin.
“Yes.”
Daniel stopped breathing.
For perhaps two seconds.
Then he said, “Why?”
“He’s my attorney.”
“No, Claire. He was your father’s attorney.”
“And now he’s mine.”
“You don’t understand what that man did to my family.”
Martin’s face hardened.
I leaned forward.
“What did he do?”
Daniel said nothing.
“Daniel?”
Then Patricia’s voice appeared faintly in the background.
“Hang up.”
Daniel must have moved the phone because her voice disappeared.
“What did Martin do?” I repeated.
“I need to explain this in person.”
“No.”
“Claire, there are things about your father you don’t know.”
The words cut deeper than I wanted them to.
“What things?”
“Meet me.”
“Tell me now.”
“I can’t.”
“You mean you won’t.”
“Because once I tell you, you’ll never look at Edward the same way again.”
Martin shook his head sharply.
I remained silent.
Daniel continued.
“You think this is about money.”
My eyes moved to my father’s letter.
Do not assume greed is the only motive.
Daniel lowered his voice.
“It isn’t.”
“Then what is it?”
He answered slowly.
“Your father destroyed mine.”
The call ended.
I stared at my phone.
Martin stood immediately.
“We need to go to Harbor Street.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
“Why?”
He pointed toward my father’s letter.
“Because Daniel just confirmed he knows about Vincent.”
We were halfway to the door when Martin’s receptionist rushed in without knocking.
“Mr. Hale?”
“What?”
“There’s a man downstairs asking for Claire.”
My heart jumped.
“Daniel?”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“He says his name is Samuel Cross.”
Martin went completely still.
“Impossible.”
I looked at him.
“Who is Samuel Cross?”
Martin answered without taking his eyes off the receptionist.
“The private investigator your father hired before he died.”
“Why is that impossible?”
Martin looked at me.
“Because Samuel Cross disappeared eighteen months ago.”
The receptionist swallowed.
“He left this for her.”
She held out a small white envelope.
My name was written across the front.
Inside was a single hotel key card.
May you like
And underneath it, a handwritten sentence.
ROOM 418. COME ALONE IF YOU WANT TO KNOW WHO KILLED YOUR FATHER.
