Chapter 6
Julian Brooks arrived at my father's office the next afternoon.
He looked exhausted.
His wedding ring was gone.
His face carried the expression of a man whose entire future had collapsed overnight.
I sat across from him with Dad and Denise.
Julian stared at his hands.
"Serena, I owe you an apology."
I waited.
He looked up.
"I should've stopped Bianca when she accused you."
My throat tightened.
"You didn't know what she planned."
He shook his head.
"That doesn't excuse standing there while your belongings were thrown onto the floor."
I appreciated his honesty.
But there was something more important.
"Julian, do you know anything about WMR Consulting?"
His expression changed.
"What?"
I placed the document in front of him.
He read it.
Then his face turned pale.
"Where did you get this?"
I looked at Denise.
She leaned forward.
"Mr. Brooks, your name appears as an authorized contact for an attempted financial transaction."
Julian shook his head.
"I never authorized that."
My stomach tightened.
"Then why is your name there?"
He rubbed his forehead.
"Bianca asked me to help review business paperwork."
I closed my eyes.
Another person who trusted her.
Another person whose name had been used.
Julian continued.
"She said Margaret was helping her launch a wedding-planning company."
I nodded.
"We know."
"She asked me to be listed as a business consultant."
I frowned.
"What do you do?"
"I'm a commercial real estate broker."
I looked toward Dad.
Julian continued.
"Bianca said she wanted to organize luxury events at estate properties."
I swallowed.
"Did you sign anything?"
He hesitated.
"Some documents."
Denise asked him to provide copies to his attorney.
Julian nodded.
Then he looked at me.
"Serena, I didn't know she was trying to take your money."
I studied his face.
I believed his distress.
But I'd learned not to confuse distress with proof.
"We need to let the records establish what happened."
He nodded.
"You're right."
Then he said something unexpected.
"Bianca was angry about you long before the wedding."
My chest tightened.
"What do you mean?"
He looked uncomfortable.
"She said your father never respected her."
I frowned.
"Dad barely knows Bianca."
Julian nodded.
"That's what I thought."
He continued.
"She said your family had millions and refused to help anyone."
I felt anger rising.
"Did she ever ask me for help?"
"She said she'd tried."
I shook my head.
"She never asked me."
Julian looked down.
"Then she lied to me too."
I thought about the way Bianca had smiled before the ceremony.
The way she'd embraced me while slipping the ring into my pocket.
The way she'd shouted for everyone to search me.
She hadn't simply wanted money.
She wanted to punish me for refusing something she'd never honestly requested.
Julian leaned forward.
"There's one more thing."
I looked at him.
"What?"
"Bianca told me Margaret controlled Adrian's inheritance."
My stomach tightened.
"What inheritance?"
He hesitated.
"She said Adrian would receive a large amount when Margaret transferred certain family assets."
I looked toward Denise.
Her expression sharpened.
"Which assets?"
Julian shook his head.
"I don't know."
Dad sat straighter.
"Did she mention an account name?"
Julian thought for a moment.
"Whitmore Legacy Holdings."
The room went silent.
I recognized the name.
Adrian had mentioned it once during our first year of marriage.
He said it was a family investment company established by his late father.
I never asked questions.
It wasn't my business.
But now it seemed connected to everything.
Denise made a note.
"Thank you, Mr. Brooks."
After Julian left, Dad looked at me.
"Serena, I think we need to understand the Whitmore family finances."
I nodded.
"I agree."
Over the following weeks, investigators reviewed the wedding recordings and the suspicious financial documents.
The trust company confirmed that no money had been transferred from my account.
That was a relief.
But the evidence suggested repeated attempts to obtain authorization through false or misleading paperwork.
Adrian provided information through his attorney.
Julian did the same.
Bianca and Margaret retained their own lawyers.
I focused on healing.
The bruising on my arm faded.
My doctor continued monitoring Grace.
And I began therapy because the wedding had left me frightened in ways I couldn't ignore.
Sometimes I woke from dreams about the ballroom.
I heard fabric tearing.
I saw Margaret's hands.
I felt exposed.
Humiliated.
Powerless.
My therapist helped me understand that I didn't have to pretend the experience was over simply because the visible bruises disappeared.
One afternoon, Adrian asked to visit.
I agreed to meet him in Dad's garden.
He arrived carrying a small paper bag.
Inside were the tiny pink socks Margaret had dumped onto the ballroom floor.
They were washed and carefully folded.
My eyes filled.
"Where did you get these?"
He smiled sadly.
"The security officer returned them to me."
I stared at him.
He continued.
"I thought you'd want them back."
I took the socks.
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Then I whispered:
"Thank you."
Adrian sat beside me.
He looked tired.
"Serena, I've started counseling."
I glanced at him.
"Why?"
He took a breath.
"Because I don't understand why I keep allowing Mom to control me."
I waited.
He continued.
"Every time I disagree with her, she says I'm betraying my father's memory."
My chest tightened.
"She's been doing that for years."
He nodded.
"I know."
I looked at him.
"Adrian, I need you to understand something."
He turned toward me.
"I don't want you to hate your mother."
His eyes filled.
"But I won't let her treat our daughter the way she treated me."
He nodded immediately.
"Neither will I."
I studied him.
"Then prove it."
He swallowed.
"I will."
We sat quietly.
Then he reached for my hand.
I let him hold it.
Not because everything was fixed.
But because, for the first time, he seemed willing to face the truth.
That evening, Dad called me into his study.
Denise was on speakerphone.
Her voice sounded serious.
"Serena, we've uncovered something important."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
"Whitmore Legacy Holdings has been receiving payments from another company connected to Margaret."
I frowned.
"Which company?"
Denise paused.
"WMR Consulting."
I stared at Dad.
The same company that had attempted to access my trust.
My father leaned forward.
"Who controls it?"
Denise took a breath.
"Margaret is listed as managing director."
I felt cold.
Then she continued.
"But the company registration includes another owner."
My heart pounded.
"Who?"
"Bianca."
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Then Denise added something that made the room feel suddenly smaller.
"Serena, the records also show that Adrian's late father may have left him shares that were never properly transferred."
I looked toward Dad.
His expression hardened.
Denise continued.
"And we believe Margaret has been using those shares without Adrian's knowledge."
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For the first time, I understood that my husband might not only have been protecting his mother.
He might have been one of her victims too.
