Chapter 3 - The Man Who Paid for the Lie
At 6:12 the next morning, Simon received a photograph that changed the investigation.
He was standing inside his private study, still wearing yesterday’s white shirt, when his security chief, Marcus Kane, placed a thin folder on the desk.
“You’re not going to like this.”
Simon opened it.
The first page contained Walter Preston’s banking records.
Three deposits.
Twenty thousand dollars.
Thirty thousand.
Then fifty thousand.
All within six months.
Simon looked up.
“Walter told us he was broke.”
“He is.”
“Then where did this come from?”
“We traced the shell company.”
Marcus slid another page forward.
Armitage Consulting Group.
Simon knew the name.
Everyone on Philadelphia’s waterfront did.
Charles Armitage had spent fifteen years trying to destroy the Wexler family without ever dirtying his own hands.
Shipping contracts vanished.
Inspectors appeared unexpectedly.
Union disputes erupted at precisely the worst moments.
And now Armitage money had reached Simon’s father-in-law.
“Why?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Simon closed the folder.
“Bring Walter here.”
“He’s already downstairs.”
Simon looked at Marcus.
“You anticipated me.”
“I enjoy employment.”
Twenty minutes later, Walter Preston sat in the library with sweat collecting beneath his collar.
Abigail arrived before Simon could begin.
She wore a simple cream sweater and dark trousers. Her hair was tied loosely behind her head.
“Why is my father here?”
Walter looked relieved.
“Abby.”
She ignored him.
Simon remained standing.
“I told you we were going to talk.”
“I also asked you not to hurt him.”
“He hasn’t been touched.”
“Yet,” Walter muttered.
Simon looked at him.
Walter immediately became silent.
Abigail folded her arms.
“What happened?”
Simon placed the banking records on the table.
“Your father received one hundred thousand dollars from a company connected to Charles Armitage.”
Abigail stared at Walter.
“Who?”
“A competitor.”
Walter’s face collapsed.
“It wasn’t supposed to become this.”
Simon’s voice lowered.
“Become what?”
Walter rubbed his hands together.
“They approached me months ago.”
“Who?”
“I never got his real name. A man called Mr. Gray.”
Marcus shifted near the door.
Simon remained perfectly still.
“What did Gray want?”
“Information about Abigail.”
Her face changed.
“Me?”
Walter nodded miserably.
“At first, harmless things. Where you worked. Your schedule. Whether you were seeing anyone.”
Abigail stared at him with growing horror.
“You sold information about me?”
“I needed money.”
Simon’s jaw tightened.
Walter rushed on.
“Then they heard Wexler was looking for a wife.”
Simon’s eyes narrowed.
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Try harder.”
Walter swallowed.
“Gray said they needed Abigail to become your preferred candidate.”
Abigail slowly sat down.
Simon understood before she did.
“The stories.”
Walter nodded.
“They told me exactly what to say.”
“Why invent lovers?”
“To make her seem…” Walter struggled.
“Experienced?” Abigail asked bitterly.
Walter looked down.
“Uncomplicated.”
Simon’s stomach turned.
Someone had engineered Abigail’s reputation specifically to make her attractive for a transactional marriage.
But why?
He looked at Marcus.
“Search the wedding gifts.”
Marcus’s expression changed instantly.
He left.
Abigail stood.
“What are you thinking?”
“That someone wanted you inside my house.”
Her face went pale.
“You think I’m part of this?”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
Abigail looked surprised.
Simon continued.
“I think someone used you.”
Walter suddenly began crying.
“Abby, I swear I didn’t know.”
She turned toward him.
“You took one hundred thousand dollars.”
“I was drowning.”
“You always are.”
That silenced him.
Abigail’s voice shook.
“Mom died and you decided grief gave you permission to destroy everybody who survived her.”
Walter covered his face.
Abigail turned away before her tears fell.
Simon wanted to comfort her.
He did not know how.
Then Marcus returned.
He carried a velvet jewelry box.
“We found this among the wedding gifts.”
Simon opened it.
Inside was an antique silver hair comb decorated with tiny diamonds.
Abigail frowned.
“I’ve never seen that.”
Marcus held up a small electronic scanner.
“There’s a transmitter embedded inside.”
Abigail stared.
“A microphone?”
“More sophisticated. Audio and location.”
Simon’s expression became murderous.
Someone had planned to track Abigail inside his estate.
Which meant Abigail herself was never the target.
She was the delivery system.
Simon looked at Walter.
“Who gave you the guest list?”
Walter hesitated.
Simon’s voice became quieter.
“Walter.”
“A man from your office.”
Marcus straightened.
“What man?”
“I don’t know his name.”
Walter described him.
Mid-forties.
Gray suit.
Scar near the right ear.
Marcus and Simon exchanged a look.
Abigail saw it.
“You know him.”
Simon walked toward the window.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“My uncle’s attorney.”
The room went silent.
Edward Wexler.
Simon’s father’s younger brother.
The man who would lose control of Wexler Maritime because Simon had married Abigail yesterday.
Suddenly the marriage made perfect sense.
Edward had not tried to prevent it.
He had helped arrange it.
Abigail approached Simon.
“Why would your uncle want you married if marriage gives you control of the company?”
Simon turned.
“Because apparently he believes he can take it back.”
Marcus’s phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
“What?”
Simon watched him.
Marcus ended the call.
“One of our dock supervisors was found dead twenty minutes ago.”
Abigail covered her mouth.
Simon’s eyes hardened.
“Which supervisor?”
“Peter Lang.”
Simon knew the name.
Peter had handled access credentials for Wexler Maritime’s secure cargo systems.
Marcus continued.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“He had a photograph in his pocket.”
Marcus held out his phone.
Simon looked.
It was a photograph of Abigail.
Taken three weeks ago.
Outside the bakery.
Someone had written four words across the back.
THE BRIDE OPENS THE DOOR.
Simon lifted his eyes toward Abigail.
The marriage had never been about debt.
May you like
Someone had been moving them toward each other for months.
And now that Abigail was inside the Wexler family, the real plan had begun.
