Chapter 3
I slept in the basement chair.
Not well.
Not long.
At dawn, I took my ruined suit from the workshop floor and laid it across the cutting table.
The morning light showed every slash.
Sleeve.
Collar.
Chest.
Victoria had not only destroyed fabric.
She had aimed for the places where a body would have stood proud.
I photographed everything.
Then I recorded the workshop.
The scissors on the floor.
The torn cloth.
The security camera above the thread cabinet.
I had installed it years ago after a burglary attempt.
Victoria had forgotten.
Or maybe she had never cared what a tailor protected.
I pulled the footage.
There she was.
Victoria cutting the suit.
Sabrina watching.
Neither one forced.
Neither one hesitant.
Then later, the hallway camera caught their return.
Audio clear.
Every laugh.
Every word.
Mortgage.
Transfer.
Disappear.
I sent the files to Marisol.
Her reply came in one line.
This is enough to freeze accounts.
I looked at the wedding invitation on my desk.
Sabrina Renee Carter and Logan Pierce.
The ceremony was at St. Gabriel’s.
The reception at Bayfront Pavilion.
My pavilion.
I had bought it twelve years earlier when the owner planned to tear it down.
Victoria always called it “your little hall.”
Until Sabrina wanted a wedding by the water.
Then suddenly, my little hall became elegant enough.
At eight, Victoria came downstairs in a silk robe.
She glanced into the workshop and stopped.
I was ironing a plain black suit.
Not handmade.
Not special.
Just clean.
Her eyes narrowed.
“You’re not still planning to come.”
I did not look up.
“I heard you last night.”
She smiled.
“Good. Then don’t embarrass us.”
“Sabrina wants Raymond.”
“She deserves her real father.”
I pressed the sleeve.
Steam rose between us.
“I paid for everything.”
“And we’re grateful,” she said, without sounding grateful.
I turned off the iron.
“Are you?”
For the first time, she looked uneasy.
Then Sabrina appeared behind her.
Hair perfect.
Nails perfect.
Face cold.
“Dad, please. Don’t ruin my day.”
I stared at the girl I had once rocked through fevers.
“I won’t.”
Relief flashed across her face.
May you like
That hurt more than anger.
Because she believed silence meant surrender.
