Chapter 5 - THE MONEY THAT HAD HIS NAME ON IT
Ethan arrived at my hotel at seven the next morning with two lawyers and no excuses.
I did not invite the lawyers into the room.
He sent them downstairs.
Then he stood beside the window while I sat in a robe with coffee I had forgotten to drink.
“Did your division pay Mason’s company?”
“Yes.”
“How much did you know about?”
“Two hundred and twenty thousand.”
“Not six eighty.”
“No.”
“What was the two twenty for?”
He rubbed his hands together.
“A recovery project.”
“What recovery?”
“The Charlotte property.”
Mercer Hospitality had bought an aging hotel near SouthPark three years earlier.
Ethan pushed the deal.
Vivian warned against it publicly but supported him in private.
Renovation costs exploded.
Then a structural issue closed forty rooms for six months.
Revenue projections collapsed.
“I needed a way to keep the project from hitting our lender covenants,” he said.
“So you invented vendors?”
“No.”
“Then explain.”
“Mason had a legitimate consulting company.”
“His wife had one.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“We routed emergency technology and project-management work through Seabright.”
“Did it perform the work?”
“Some.”
“Some.”
He looked away.
“Not all.”
I set the coffee down.
“How much was fake?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Who created the invoices?”
“Mason.”
“Who approved them?”
“My controller. Sometimes me.”
“Where did the extra money go?”
“Back into project expenses.”
“That sounds like fraud with prettier nouns.”
“I know.”
There was no defense in his voice.
That made it worse.
“Where was Vivian?”
“She found out last fall.”
“What did she say?”
“That she could protect the company if I stopped making changes without her.”
I stared at him.
“The proxy.”
“Yes.”
The first major shift landed there.
Vivian was not only fighting to keep power because she was vain.
She had leverage over Ethan.
She had been covering his business failure.
The more she protected him, the more he needed her.
The more he needed her, the more dangerous I became.
Because my firm’s audit could expose the arrangement.
Because marriage would release his voting shares.
Because I might ask why he was handing those votes straight back to the woman whose approval appeared all over the questionable payments.
“You let me believe Vivian hated me because I wasn’t good enough for this family.”
His face tightened.
“She does hate you.”
“That isn’t comforting.”
“I know.”
“But money came first.”
“Control came first.”
I looked at him.
“Same family.”
He flinched.
I let the silence stay.
Then I asked, “Did you know about the florist?”
His face changed.
Not enough.
I stood.
“You knew.”
“Three days ago.”
I could barely hear him.
“Marisol told me two weeks ago.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Mom confronted me.”
“About what?”
“She said you were accusing her of setting you up.”
“That’s because she was.”
“I asked her directly.”
“And she denied it.”
“Yes.”
“So you believed her.”
“No.”
That surprised me.
“What?”
“I didn’t believe her.”
The room went quiet.
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought I could contain it.”
There was that family word again.
Contain.
As if Vivian were a leak.
As if I were the wall expected to absorb her.
“What did you do?”
“I told Mom that if she contacted Marisol again, I would cancel her access to the wedding.”
“You didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“She promised she was done.”
I laughed.
He closed his eyes.
“I know.”
“Stop saying you know after the damage.”
He nodded.
“What else?”
“What do you mean?”
“What else did she say?”
He walked to the chair and sat.
“Yesterday morning she asked me to postpone the ceremony.”
My skin prickled.
“Why?”
“She said the board needed to meet first.”
“Because of the proxy.”
“Yes.”
“What did you say?”
“No.”
“Immediately?”
He hesitated.
My stomach tightened.
“What did you say first?”
“That I would handle you.”
The sentence sat between us.
“Handle me.”
“I meant talk to you.”
“About postponing our wedding on the morning of our wedding.”
“Yes.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I knew you’d ask why.”
“And you didn’t want to tell me.”
“Yes.”
I looked at the white wall behind him.
“Did Vivian think you agreed to delay?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you tell her you wouldn’t?”
“Eventually.”
“What does eventually mean?”
He pulled out his phone.
“There were texts.”
He handed it to me.
10:42 a.m.
VIVIAN: MONDAY FIRST. CEREMONY AFTER.
ETHAN: I SAID I’LL HANDLE CLAIRE.
VIVIAN: KEEP HER UPSTAIRS UNTIL I GET THIS FIXED.
ETHAN: I’M NOT LOCKING MY FIANCÉE IN A ROOM.
VIVIAN: THEN YOU WILL LOSE EVERYTHING YOUR FATHER BUILT.
ETHAN: STOP.
I scrolled.
There was another message at 11:06.
ETHAN: DO NOT TOUCH CLAIRE OR HER THINGS. I MEAN IT.
I looked at him.
“You knew she was thinking about doing something to my things.”
“She threatened to hide the dress.”
“What?”
“I thought she was venting.”
I closed my eyes.
The shredded lace.
My mother’s veil.
Ethan had known.
Not the whole plan.
Enough.
A new message appeared on his phone.
From Dana.
MASON’S COUNSEL JUST CONTACTED COMPANY LAWYERS.
HE WILL COOPERATE.
Ethan took the phone.
Then another message came.
May you like
Dana again.
HE SAYS YOU GAVE HIM THE ORDER THAT MADE THE CAMERA GO DARK.
