Chapter 3 - THE SECRET BENEATH THE WEDDING DRESS
Casper did not sleep.
At six the following morning, he summoned Marlon to the study.
Marlon arrived carrying a folder and a cup of coffee.
"You look terrible," he said. "Did Cordelia do something?"
Casper placed the photograph on the desk.
Marlon's expression changed.
Only slightly.
But Casper noticed.
"Explain."
Marlon set down the coffee.
"That photograph was taken outside the Bellmont Club. I met someone there who had information about the Holloways."
"Who?"
"A broker. I don't know his real name."
"You expect me to believe you met an unknown broker outside a club with my fiancée?"
"I expected to bring you evidence before making an accusation."
Casper studied the man across the desk.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I wasn't certain what I had found."
It was a reasonable answer.
That made it worse.
Casper had built his life around recognizing danger before it reached him. Now the people closest to him appeared to be standing on opposite sides of an invisible line.
"You're relieved of the investigation," he said.
Marlon's face hardened.
"Casper—"
"Until I know who sent that photograph, I don't want you touching the evidence."
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then Marlon nodded.
"As you wish."
When he left, Casper opened the bottom drawer of his desk and removed an old newspaper clipping.
His mother, Isabella Falcone, had died in a car accident when he was thirteen.
The official report stated that she had lost control of her vehicle on a rain-slick road.
Casper remembered the telephone ringing at two in the morning. He remembered his father sitting in the kitchen with blood on his shirt, though no one had explained why.
He remembered August telling him that powerful families survived by burying the past.
And he remembered Marlon, then twenty-two, standing beside him at the funeral.
The message had reopened something Casper had spent twenty-four years trying to seal.
Across the mansion, Cordelia was preparing for the wedding rehearsal.
She had arranged for the ballroom to be filled with white roses and gold candles. A string quartet practiced near the staircase while caterers carried silver trays through the adjoining halls.
Willow worked among them, adjusting tablecloths and checking place cards.
She was almost finished when she noticed a folded sheet of paper beneath Cordelia's dressing table.
She would have left it alone.
Then she saw the words Eastern Port transfer printed across the top.
Willow hesitated.
She knew she should not touch it.
But she remembered the conversation she had overheard, and the strange references to a shipment diversion.
She unfolded the paper just enough to see a list of numbers and a handwritten note.
The east gate will be unguarded at 9:40. Transfer the original before the vows.
Footsteps approached.
Willow slid the paper back beneath the table and resumed polishing the mirror.
Cordelia entered with two assistants.
"Why are you still here?"
"I was finishing the dressing room."
"Then finish somewhere else."
Willow gathered her supplies.
As she passed Cordelia, the older woman caught her wrist.
"Have you been going through my things?"
"No, Miss Vance."
"Look at me when I speak to you."
Willow raised her eyes.
Cordelia's fingers tightened around her wrist.
"If you value your position, you will learn that curiosity is expensive."
She released Willow.
Willow left without answering.
But the warning followed her down the corridor.
At lunchtime, she slipped into the servants' pantry and wrote the numbers she remembered on the back of a receipt.
She did not understand the transaction, but she knew the date and time mattered.
She had heard enough conversations in the mansion to recognize when someone was planning something in secret.
That evening, Casper found her alone in the library.
"Willow."
She turned so quickly that the book in her hands nearly fell.
"Mr. Falcone."
"Come here."
She approached the desk.
Casper noticed the way she kept her hands clasped in front of her, hiding the worst of the cracks.
"Have you seen anything unusual in the mansion lately?"
Willow's mind raced.
If she told him about Cordelia, she could lose her job.
If she remained silent, whatever happened Saturday might endanger everyone in the house.
"I heard a conversation," she said carefully.
"Whose?"
"Miss Vance's. She mentioned a shipment diversion."
Casper went still.
"What else?"
"An east gate. A transfer before the vows. I don't know what it means."
He stared at her.
"Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"I wasn't sure what I heard. And I didn't want to accuse anyone without knowing the truth."
For several seconds, Casper said nothing.
Then he asked, "Do you have the exact words?"
Willow handed him the receipt.
He read the numbers once.
Then again.
The color drained from his face.
They matched an internal authorization code used to release the original Eastern Port transfer documents.
Documents that should have remained locked inside a secure office.
"Where did you see this?"
"Under Miss Vance's dressing table."
Casper folded the receipt.
"Did anyone see you?"
"No."
"Good. Don't mention this to anyone. Not Prudence, not the other staff, and certainly not Miss Vance."
Willow nodded.
He studied her for a moment.
"You understand what you're telling me?"
"Only that something is wrong."
"Something is very wrong."
He reached for his telephone.
Before he could make the call, Willow's phone vibrated inside her pocket.
She glanced at the screen.
The hospital.
She stepped aside.
"Hello?"
A woman's voice answered.
"Ms. Reed, this is the cardiac surgery coordinator. We need to discuss your sister's condition."
Willow's face turned white.
"What happened?"
"Her symptoms have worsened. Her physician wants her admitted immediately."
"Is she—"
"She's stable at the moment, but she needs monitoring. Can you come to the hospital?"
Willow could barely breathe.
"I'll be there."
She ended the call.
Casper watched her struggling to remain composed.
"Your sister?"
Willow nodded.
"She needs surgery. I don't have enough money."
The confession came out before she could stop it.
Casper looked at the receipt in his hand, then at the woman who had returned his confidential documents without reading them.
For the first time, he understood why she worked as if every hour were a matter of life and death.
"How much?"
She shook her head.
"I can't ask you for money."
"That wasn't my question."
Willow hesitated before telling him.
Casper picked up his telephone and made a short call to his financial office.
"Transfer the required amount directly to the hospital. Have their billing department contact me."
Willow stared at him.
"No. Please. I can't accept that."
"You can refuse it after your sister is safe."
"I don't want to owe you anything."
Something in her answer surprised him.
Most people in his world accepted favors because they expected to exploit them later.
Willow seemed frightened by the possibility of being indebted.
"You won't owe me anything," he said.
She looked at him as if she wanted to believe him but had learned not to trust promises.
Then her phone vibrated again.
A text from Esther appeared.
Willow, come quickly. Two men have been asking about Winnie. They say they're from your employer.
Willow read the message twice.
Casper saw her expression change.
"What is it?"
She turned the phone toward him.
He read the message.
His face became frighteningly still.
"Call Esther," he ordered.
Willow did.
The call went straight to voicemail.
Casper seized his coat and reached for the secure line.
"Get the car," he told his driver. "And tell security to prepare the south exit."
Then he looked at Willow.
"Your sister isn't going to be left alone tonight."
Before they reached the door, his secure telephone rang.
The caller ID showed a number that had been disconnected for twenty-four years.
Casper answered.
A woman's voice whispered through the line.
"Casper, if you want that girl and her sister alive, you must not marry Cordelia Vance."
He froze.
The voice continued.
"And whatever you do, don't trust the man standing beside you."
The call ended.
Casper slowly turned toward the corridor.
May you like
Marlon was standing there.
And he was holding a gun.
