Chapter 2 - THE MAN BESIDE ME
WORD NUMBER - 2
Sophie needed eleven stitches.
The CT scan showed a concussion but, by a mercy I would never stop being grateful for, no skull fracture and no bleeding inside her brain.
I sat beside her hospital bed at two in the morning with dried blood beneath my fingernails.
She was asleep.
A white bandage wrapped around the side of her head.
Every few minutes her fingers moved toward me, even in sleep.
I kept my hand beneath hers.
No one from my family came.
Not my mother.
Not my father.
Certainly not Preston.
Bianca sent flowers.
I asked the nurse to move them outside because the smell of lilies made Sophie nauseous.
Michael called seventeen times from police custody.
I answered none.
At 2:38 a.m., Elise Warren arrived.
The security director had changed from her formal black wedding suit into jeans and a navy jacket.
She carried a laptop.
Behind her came Detective Marcus Bell from Chicago Police.
“I’m sorry to disturb you.”
“You’re not.”
I looked toward Sophie.
“Tell me what you found.”
Detective Bell sat across from me.
“Your brother is in custody.”
“For assault?”
“Aggravated battery of a child is being reviewed, along with other possible charges.”
“And Michael?”
“Evidence tampering, conspiracy, possibly child endangerment. We’re still establishing what he knew.”
I almost laughed.
“What he knew?”
“He planted the phone.”
“Yes.”
“That alone doesn’t prove he knew Preston would become violent.”
“He shouted that Preston promised nobody would get hurt.”
Bell nodded.
“We have that.”
Elise opened her laptop.
“There’s something else.”
Of course there was.
I had begun to hate those words.
She showed me footage from the ballroom fifteen minutes before Preston announced the missing phone.
Michael stood near the head table.
Preston approached.
They spoke for twenty seconds.
There was no audio.
Then Preston handed Michael the phone.
Michael slipped it inside his tuxedo jacket.
My stomach tightened.
The footage jumped forward.
Michael crossed toward our table.
He waited until I left to help Sophie in the restroom.
Then he leaned behind her chair.
Phone into jacket.
Trap prepared.
“That proves it.”
“Yes,” Bell said.
“But it doesn’t explain why.”
Elise changed the footage.
“This is from the coatroom corridor.”
Michael appeared again.
This time carrying Sophie’s small pink backpack.
I frowned.
“That bag was beneath our table.”
“He moved it at 6:51.”
The footage showed him entering a service corridor and disappearing beyond the camera.
Three minutes later, he returned without the backpack.
At 7:03, one of the wedding coordinators found it beside our chairs.
“What did he do to it?”
“We searched the bag after police took custody.”
Bell placed a clear evidence bag on the table.
Inside was a diamond bracelet.
I stared.
“I’ve never seen that.”
Elise said, “It belongs to Bianca.”
The bride.
The bracelet had apparently disappeared from the bridal suite.
Worth nearly sixty thousand dollars.
My mouth went dry.
“They were going to accuse Sophie of stealing that too.”
Bell’s expression said he believed the same thing.
“Possibly.”
“Why frame an eight-year-old as a serial thief?”
“We’re hoping Michael tells us.”
I looked at Sophie.
“She said something about a silver key.”
Bell nodded.
“We heard.”
I searched my memory.
Sophie loved collecting tiny objects.
Coins.
Buttons.
Shiny stones.
Hotel keycards.
Anything that felt like a treasure.
“Did security find a key?”
“No.”
“What kind?”
“She hasn’t been able to explain yet.”
Elise hesitated.
“There is something else unusual.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
“Just say it.”
“Your wedding party used several restricted areas of the hotel. Executive offices. Board dining room. Old penthouse level.”
“My parents own the hotel.”
“Your family company does.”
“My father controls it.”
Elise looked at me carefully.
“Are you sure?”
The question irritated me.
“What does that mean?”
She opened a document.
Whitmore Hospitality Holdings.
Share distribution.
Richard Whitmore: 19 percent.
Celeste Whitmore: 12 percent.
Preston Whitmore: 14 percent.
Various outside investors: 15 percent.
Then one line.
Eleanor Whitmore Family Trust: 40 percent.
I stared.
Eleanor.
My grandmother.
She had died three years earlier.
“What does that have to do with me?”
Elise looked at Bell.
Bell said, “According to a note attached to the corporate record, beneficiaries of that trust were never publicly disclosed.”
I felt suddenly cold.
My grandmother had founded the modern Whitmore Hotel group with my grandfather.
After he died, my father began running the company.
Grandmother remained chairwoman until her death.
She and Preston fought constantly.
She and I had been close.
Very close.
A week before she died, she called me six times.
I did not answer the last call.
Michael and I had been arguing.
He had convinced me my grandmother was interfering in our marriage.
I remembered his words.
You need boundaries, Evelyn.
She manipulates you.
Stop running every time she calls.
Three days later, Eleanor fell down the private west staircase at the hotel.
She died before reaching the hospital.
I never forgave myself for missing that call.
“Elise.”
“Yes?”
“What did Sophie see?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Michael planted stolen property on her. Preston publicly accused her. There has to be a reason.”
Detective Bell closed his notebook.
“We searched Michael’s vehicle.”
My heart began pounding.
“And?”
“We found a locked leather case.”
“Inside?”
“Documents.”
“What documents?”
“Several appear to require your signature.”
“I didn’t sign anything tonight.”
“We know.”
The detective placed photographs on the table.
The first document was titled:
MARITAL PROPERTY REALIGNMENT AGREEMENT.
The second:
IRREVOCABLE VOTING PROXY.
The third:
LIMITED POWER OF ATTORNEY.
My name appeared at the bottom of all three.
Evelyn Harper.
And beneath my name—
A signature.
My signature.
Except I had never signed them.
“That’s forged.”
Bell nodded.
“We suspected.”
“What do they do?”
“We’re still having counsel review them.”
Elise pointed to one paragraph.
“This one appears to transfer any beneficial interest you possess in Whitmore Hospitality to your husband for management.”
“I don’t possess any interest.”
Again that look between Elise and Bell.
“What?”
Bell answered.
“We think your grandmother may have left you something.”
My chair suddenly felt unstable.
“Why would Michael know that before me?”
No one answered.
That frightened me.
A nurse entered to check Sophie.
Her eyes opened.
“Mommy?”
“I’m here.”
I leaned beside her.
“You’re safe.”
She looked toward the door.
“Is Daddy here?”
“No.”
Her lip trembled.
“He told me it was a secret.”
I brushed her hair away from the uninjured side of her face.
“What was?”
“The key.”
“What silver key, sweetheart?”
She looked scared.
“You won’t get mad?”
“Never.”
She swallowed.
“I saw Uncle Preston give Daddy something before the wedding.”
My pulse accelerated.
“A key?”
She nodded.
“Daddy dropped it.”
“Where?”
“By Grandma Eleanor’s picture.”
The hotel ballroom had a memorial photograph of Eleanor near the west corridor.
“What happened?”
“I picked it up.”
“And?”
“Daddy took it from me.”
Her eyes filled.
“He squeezed my arm and said I had to forget.”
I looked at the faint bruise near her elbow.
I had noticed it before the wedding.
Michael told me Sophie had bumped into a door.
My vision blurred.
“What did the key look like?”
“Silver. Little.”
“Did it have anything written on it?”
She concentrated.
“A number.”
“What number?”
“Eight.”
Elise inhaled sharply.
I looked at her.
“You know it.”
“I know a key marked eight.”
“Where does it go?”
She hesitated.
“The original hotel still has private safe-deposit compartments built into the founder’s office.”
“My grandmother’s office?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“Twelve.”
I stood.
“Compartment eight.”
Bell raised his hand.
“We need to handle this properly.”
“Fine.”
“But there’s another problem.”
“What now?”
Elise looked uncomfortable.
“Your grandmother’s office has been sealed since she died.”
“By whom?”
“Your father.”
I stared at her.
“Why?”
“No official reason.”
My phone vibrated.
A text from an unknown number.
EVELYN, DO NOT GO TO ELEANOR’S OFFICE.
I stared.
Another message arrived.
YOU HAVE ALREADY LOST ONE PERSON BY REFUSING TO LISTEN.
My blood went cold.
Three years earlier, my grandmother had called me six times.
I had refused to listen.
Now someone was using that guilt against me.
Then a photograph appeared.
It showed the door to Eleanor’s sealed office.
May you like
Taken within the last five minutes.
Someone was already inside.
