Chapter 5
I asked Denise to repeat herself.
She took a shaky breath.
"Marcus told Vanessa to cause a scene."
I gripped the kitchen counter.
"Why would he want me to cancel our wedding?"
"Because he already knew the paperwork might fall apart."
I stared toward the living room.
My mother was sitting beside Tasha, quietly drinking tea.
She had no idea what I was hearing.
"Explain everything," I said.
Denise lowered her voice.
"Vanessa's been bragging for months that Marcus was going to leave you."
My throat tightened.
"How long have they been together?"
"Almost a year."
I closed my eyes.
Almost a year.
While I was choosing wedding flowers.
While I was helping Marcus plan his business expansion.
While my mother was calling him the son she'd never had.
He had been sleeping with Vanessa.
"Keep talking."
Denise sighed.
"Marcus promised Vanessa they would open a luxury salon and event resort together. He said your family property would finance it."
I felt sick.
"And the wedding?"
"He needed it to convince the investors that your family supported the project."
I looked at the ring-shaped mark still visible on my finger.
"Then why ruin it?"
"Because the lender started questioning Evelyn's signature. Marcus panicked. He thought if the wedding was canceled publicly, he could blame you for the business failure."
"That doesn't make sense."
"It wasn't his original plan," Denise said. "He wanted the marriage and the money. But yesterday he learned the title company was asking questions. He told Vanessa the wedding might be over anyway."
My mind raced.
"And Vanessa decided to hurt my mother?"
Denise hesitated.
"I heard Marcus tell her that Evelyn was the reason everything was going wrong."
I remembered Marcus stepping beside Vanessa.
His instant defense.
The way he acted almost relieved when I removed my ring.
Then I remembered his terror when I mentioned the documents.
He hadn't planned for the evidence to reach me.
He'd planned for me to walk away without knowing anything.
"Why are you telling me this?"
Denise began crying again.
"Because I should've stopped her."
I waited.
"She cut that other woman's hair during a consultation two years ago. She said it was a mistake. The client filed a complaint, but Vanessa paid her to stay quiet."
"Did you witness it?"
"I saw what happened afterward. And today, I heard Vanessa laughing about your mother before the ceremony."
My stomach turned.
"Do you have proof?"
"Messages. Voice notes. Salon appointment records."
I looked toward Rebecca, who was still reviewing documents at the dining table.
"Would you speak to my attorney?"
Denise hesitated.
"Vanessa will fire me."
"I understand."
"I have two children, Nia."
Her fear was real.
For a moment, I didn't know what to say.
Then I remembered my mother crying in that chair.
"Denise, I'm not asking you to risk your family. But if you have evidence of fraud or what happened today, there may be ways to report it safely. My attorney can explain."
She remained silent.
Finally, she whispered, "I'll come tomorrow."
When I ended the call, Rebecca listened carefully.
She warned me that Denise's account was only one part of the evidence.
"We have to distinguish what she witnessed from what she heard," she said.
I nodded.
Then I asked the question that had been haunting me.
"Who keeps sending those anonymous messages?"
Rebecca frowned.
"That's something we need to find out."
That evening, a police investigator named Detective James Walker arrived after Rebecca helped us report the suspected document forgery and missing estate records.
He examined the footage.
He asked detailed questions.
He photographed the cabinet.
When I described the bridal suite incident, he took that information seriously too.
I didn't hide what I'd done to Vanessa.
"I cut her ponytail," I admitted.
Detective Walker studied me.
"Has she contacted you about that?"
"Not yet."
"Then don't contact her. Let the investigation proceed."
He looked at my mother.
"Mrs. Carter, can you confirm that you never authorized Marcus to use your property as collateral?"
"Absolutely."
"And you never signed these loan documents?"
"Never."
He nodded.
"Then we'll begin with the original records and the people involved."
After he left, Tasha prepared dinner.
None of us had much appetite.
Mom sat at the table with a soft cream scarf covering her hair.
I looked at her.
"Mom, tomorrow I'm taking you to a specialist."
She smiled sadly.
"You don't have to worry about my hair."
"Yes, I do."
"Nia, it's only hair."
I shook my head.
"It's not only hair. Vanessa wanted to take something from you."
Mom reached across the table.
"Then don't let her take your peace too."
I tried to smile.
But late that night, after everyone had gone to bed, I sat alone in my childhood bedroom.
My wedding gown hung over a chair.
I had finally changed into sweatpants and an old college sweatshirt.
I stared at the dress.
I'd spent eight months choosing it.
My mother had cried when I first tried it on.
Marcus had told me he couldn't wait to see me walking down the aisle.
Now I wondered whether any of his words had been real.
My phone vibrated.
Another anonymous message.
"Check Marcus's business account from March."
Below it was a photograph of a bank transfer.
I enlarged the screen.
The payment was for $85,000.
The recipient was Vanessa Brooks.
The description read:
"Consulting services."
I stared at the date.
March 18.
My father's birthday.
The same day Marcus had told me he couldn't join us for dinner because he was working late.
Then another message arrived.
"Ask why Vanessa received that money before she ever became your wedding hairstylist."
I sat upright.
Because suddenly I remembered something.
Vanessa hadn't been my choice.
Marcus had insisted on hiring her.
He said she was the best.
He said she was trustworthy.
He even offered to pay her himself.
I opened our old messages and searched her name.
There it was.
A message from Marcus, six months earlier.
"Baby, I already booked Vanessa. Don't worry about the price. Consider it my gift to your mom."
My hands trembled.
May you like
The gift had been a trap.
And someone had known about it long before my wedding day.
