Chapter 5
The wedding ended without a marriage.
Police separated everyone.
Guests were asked to leave.
Phones had recorded almost everything, which meant privacy disappeared before sunset.
By evening, clips were already online.
BRIDE’S FAMILY FRAUD EXPOSED AT ALTAR.
BIOLOGICAL FATHER TACKLED AT WEDDING.
STEPPFATHER REVEALS $2 MILLION LIFE INSURANCE PLOT.
I ignored all of it.
I sat in my pavilion office while detectives searched Raymond’s car.
Sabrina sat across from me.
Neither of us spoke for a long time.
Her wedding dress spread around her chair.
She looked smaller than she had that morning.
Finally she whispered, “I didn’t know about the insurance.”
I believed that.
Maybe because I wanted to.
Maybe because the shock on her face had been too real.
“I didn’t know about the brakes either.”
I nodded.
She started crying.
“I knew about the money.”
I said nothing.
“I knew Mom was moving some of it.”
“How much?”
“She said fifty thousand.”
“It’s over two hundred.”
Her eyes closed.
“I didn’t know.”
“You formed the company.”
“For Raymond.”
“You signed documents.”
“He said it was for taxes.”
The same excuse people always used when they wanted ignorance to become innocence.
I leaned forward.
“Sabrina, you wrote that I would sign anything if you said it was for your future.”
She covered her face.
“I was angry.”
“That wasn’t anger.”
“I don’t know what it was.”
“I do.”
She looked at me.
“Entitlement.”
The word hurt her.
Good.
Some truths needed to.
“You believed my love meant access.”
She cried harder.
“I thought you’d never say no to me.”
“You were right.”
That surprised her.
“I almost never did.”
I looked down at my hands.
“That was my mistake.”
“Dad—”
“No.”
I raised my eyes.
“I gave without teaching you what giving cost.”
She shook her head.
“This isn’t your fault.”
“No. Your choices are yours.”
I paused.
“But I made it easy for you to confuse love with rescue.”
She whispered, “Raymond said you wanted me dependent.”
“Raymond abandoned you.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Her face crumpled again.
“He told me he stayed away because Mom threatened him.”
That was new.
“What?”
“She said if he came back, she would make sure he never saw me.”
I almost laughed.
Victoria probably had said something like that.
But abandonment for twenty-five years required more than one threat.
“Did he pay support?”
Sabrina looked away.
“No.”
“Birthday cards?”
“No.”
“Calls?”
“No.”
“Did he know where you lived?”
She said nothing.
Exactly.
Raymond had explanations.
Not evidence.
Then Detective Kim entered.
“Sabrina, I need another interview.”
Sabrina looked scared.
“Am I being arrested?”
“Not at this moment.”
The wording mattered.
She stood.
Before leaving, she turned toward me.
“Dad.”
I looked at her.
“I’m sorry.”
I wanted to accept it.
I couldn’t.
Not yet.
“Tell them the truth.”
She nodded.
That was all I could give her.
After she left, Martin arrived.
He brought divorce papers.
I stared at them.
Thirty-one years.
Reduced to numbered paragraphs.
“Too soon?” he asked.
“No.”
“You don’t have to file tonight.”
“Yes, I do.”
I signed.
No speech.
No hesitation.
There was grief.
Of course there was.
But grief didn’t mean doubt.
While Martin filed emergency documents electronically, Rachel returned.
“We found something in Raymond’s car.”
She placed a small plastic evidence bag on my desk.
Inside was a key.
I recognized it immediately.
“My workshop.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
I kept a spare key in our kitchen drawer.
“Victoria could have given it to him.”
“Probably.”
“What else?”
“A bottle.”
“What kind?”
“Prescription medication.”
I frowned.
“My name is on it.”
I leaned closer.
It was an old prescription for muscle relaxants from a back injury two years earlier.
I had thrown the bottle away when I stopped taking them.
Or thought I had.
Rachel said, “There are tablets inside, but we’re testing them.”
“Why was it in Raymond’s car?”
“We’ll ask.”
My stomach turned.
Then she showed me photographs from his phone.
My workshop safe.
The basement door.
My truck.
And dozens of pictures of documents.
One stopped me.
My original trust paperwork.
“How did he photograph that?”
Rachel asked, “Who had access to your safe?”
“No one.”
“Could Victoria know the combination?”
“I never told her.”
“Did Sabrina?”
“No.”
Then I remembered something.
Three months earlier, Sabrina came to the basement looking for childhood photographs.
She was alone down there for almost an hour.
My chest tightened.
Rachel noticed.
“What?”
“My daughter.”
I explained.
She wrote it down.
“Don’t assume.”
I nodded.
But my heart already hurt.
Then her phone rang.
She listened.
Her expression changed.
“Where?”
She ended the call.
“The tablets from Raymond’s car tested positive for a sedative.”
“What does that mean?”
“They aren’t the medication listed on the bottle.”
Cold spread through me.
“Was someone planning to drug me?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Then another detective entered.
“Rachel.”
He handed her a printed email.
She read it.
Then looked at me.
“What?”
“We recovered deleted messages from Raymond’s phone.”
I stood.
“Between him and Victoria?”
“Yes.”
“Read them.”
Rachel hesitated.
“I’d rather—”
“Read them.”
She took a breath.
One message from Victoria:
HE STILL DRINKS BOURBON IN THE WORKSHOP AFTER CLOSING. HALF A TABLET SHOULD BE ENOUGH.
My hands went numb.
Raymond replied:
AND THEN?
Victoria:
GARAGE. ENGINE RUNNING. EVERYONE WILL THINK HE PASSED OUT.
I closed my eyes.
My workshop connected to a detached garage.
Carbon monoxide.
An accident.
A grieving tailor drinking alone after being rejected from his daughter’s wedding.
The story would have written itself.
Rachel continued.
Raymond:
WHAT IF AUTOPSY FINDS THE DRUG?
Victoria:
THE PRESCRIPTION BOTTLE HAS HIS NAME.
I sat down.
My wife had planned my death with administrative precision.
Not rage.
Not impulse.
A schedule.
A narrative.
An insurance payout.
Martin whispered, “Jesus.”
Rachel turned another page.
Then stopped.
“What?”
She looked at me.
“There’s a third person in the messages.”
“Curtis?”
“No.”
“Who?”
She placed the page in front of me.
The contact name was simply:
S.
The messages:
S: HE’LL BE IN THE WORKSHOP AFTER THE REHEARSAL DINNER.
Victoria: YOU’RE SURE?
S: HE ALWAYS WORKS WHEN HE’S UPSET.
Raymond: CAN YOU KEEP HIM THERE?
S: PROBABLY. I’LL TELL HIM MY DRESS NEEDS FIXING.
My vision blurred.
I knew who S was.
There was only one person whose dress I would have stayed up all night fixing.
Sabrina.
I stood so suddenly my chair fell backward.
“No.”
Rachel said nothing.
I read the messages again.
S.
Dress.
Workshop.
No.
Not my daughter.
Not that.
Then the final recovered message appeared.
Sent by S two weeks earlier.
I DON’T WANT ANYONE HURT. MOM SAID YOU WERE ONLY GOING TO SCARE HIM INTO SIGNING.
I exhaled.
Rachel pointed.
“That matters.”
Another reply from Victoria:
THEN STOP ASKING QUESTIONS.
Raymond:
YOUR JOB IS TO GET HIM THERE. NOTHING MORE.
Sabrina answered:
IF THIS IS SOMETHING ELSE, I’M OUT.
I sat slowly.
She had participated in deception.
Theft.
Manipulation.
But perhaps not murder.
Rachel said, “We need to determine when she understood the real plan.”
I rubbed my face.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Mr. Mercer?”
“Yes.”
“This is Dr. Aaron Patel from Mercy Medical Center.”
I frowned.
“How can I help you?”
“You don’t know me.”
“No.”
“But I knew Raymond Lewis.”
My stomach tightened.
Rachel motioned for speaker.
I switched it on.
Dr. Patel continued.
“He approached me four months ago asking whether certain sedatives could mimic alcohol intoxication.”
Rachel’s eyes sharpened.
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him I wouldn’t discuss medication outside a medical context.”
“Did he explain why?”
“He said he was writing a screenplay.”
Of course.
“Why are you calling now?”
“Because I saw the wedding video online.”
I closed my eyes.
The internet had become evidence.
Dr. Patel continued.
“And there’s something else.”
“What?”
“Raymond asked about carbon monoxide death.”
Silence.
“He wanted to know how long it would take before a person lost consciousness in a closed garage.”
My skin went cold.
Rachel asked, “Did you report this?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He was asking hypothetically.”
Dr. Patel sounded ashamed.
“I didn’t understand.”
Neither had I.
Then he said one more thing.
“He wasn’t alone.”
I froze.
“Who was with him?”
“A woman.”
“Victoria?”
“No.”
My heart tightened.
“Was she young?”
“Yes.”
I looked at Rachel.
“Sabrina?”
Dr. Patel hesitated.
“I don’t know her name.”
“Can you describe her?”
Before he could answer, someone pounded on my office door.
Elena rushed in.
“Glenn.”
Her face was pale.
“What?”
“Sabrina is gone.”
Rachel stood.
“What do you mean gone?”
“She left through the kitchen exit ten minutes ago.”
My stomach dropped.
“She was with police.”
“She asked to use the restroom.”
Rachel was already calling officers.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from Sabrina.
DAD, I REMEMBER WHERE RAYMOND HID THE OTHER PHONE.
I’M GOING TO GET IT.
DON’T TRUST MOM.
A second message arrived.
IF I’M RIGHT, IT PROVES I NEVER AGREED TO HURT YOU.
I called immediately.
No answer.
Then a third message appeared.
HE’S HERE.
My blood stopped.
May you like
Another.
DAD HELP.
